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Printed for Lonaman i C? April 8* 1^5 - 



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HORJE LYRICM. 

POEMS, 

CHIEFLY OF 

THE LYRIC K|ND, 
IN three! books. 

SACRED 

TO DEVOTION AND PIETXr-" TO VIRTUE, HONOUR AND 

FRIENDSHIP — TO THE MEMORY OF 

THE DEAD. 



BY ISAAC WATTS, D.D. 



A NEW EDITION. 



TO WHICH ARE ADDED, A SUPPLEMENT, CONTAINING 
TRANSLATIONS OF ALL THE LATIN POEMS, 
WITH NOTES, 

BY THOMAS GIBBONS, D. D. 



.. . Si non Uranie Lyram 

Ccelestem cohibet, nee Polyhymnia 
Humanum refagit tender e Barbiton. 

HOR. Od. I. imitat. 



LONDON: 

PRINTED FOR G. WILKIE, J. WALKER, OTRIDGE AND 
SON, OGILVY AND SON, SCATCHERDAND LETTER MAN, 
VERNOR AND HOOD, LACKINGTON, ALLEN AND CO, 
LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ANDORME, AND J.MAWM AN. 

1805. 






0-7 



Printed by Biggs and Co. Crane-Court, Fleet-Streer. 



MEMOIRS 

OF 

DR. ISAAC WATTS. 



AS the lives of men who have rendered themselves 
famous by their talents, should always be handed 
down to posterity for a memorial of their worth, we here 
prefix a brief memoir of this celebrated and pious writer. 
Isaac Watts, the eldest of nine children, was born at 
Southampton, July 17, 1674. His father, Mr. Isaac 
Watts, was the master of a very nourishing boarding- 
school in that town, which was in such reputation, that 
gentlemen's sons were sent to it from America and the 
West-Indies for education. He was a man of lively 
devotion, and a decided nonconformist. He was im- 
prisoned more than once for his nonconformity ; and 
during his confinement, his wife had been known to sit 
on a stone near the prison door, suckling her son Isaac, 
the subject of this memoir. At an early age our author 
displayed his love of learning ; even in his infant days, 
before he could speak plain, whenever he received a 
present from a friend he would give the money to his 
mother, saying, " A book, buy a book :" the hours 
devoted by other children to play he employed in read- 



IV 

ing, even in composing little poems to gratify the fond 
expectations of his mother. In his fourth year he en- 
tered upon the study of Latin, under the tuition of Mr. 
Pinhorne*; a minister of the established church, and 
master of the free grammar-school at Southampton. 
He not only made a rapid progress in this language, 
but soon became master of the Greek, and also studied 
Hebrew under the same master, as appears from a La- 
1 in ode which our author, when in the twentieth year 
of his age, gratefully inscribed to his preceptor. 

In the year 1690, he was sent to London for acade- 
mical education under the Rev. Mr. Thomas Rowe, son 
(if the Rev. John Rowe, M. A. who was ejected by 
the act of uniformity, 1662, from Westminster Abbey ; 
and, in 1693, in his nineteenth year, he joined in com- 
munion with the church under the pastoral care of his 
tutor. At the academy Mr. Hughes, the poet, Dr. 
Hort, afterwards archbishop of Tuam, and Mr. Say, 
(the successor of Mr. Edward Calamy) were his fellow 
students; and, as appears from their correspondence, 
they entertained a warm affection for him. 

Various compositions in Latin and English, being his 
college exercises, evinced our author's attention to his 
studies during his residence at Mr. Rowe's academy. 
We are told by his biographers, that he took the most 



* There is a monument erected to his memory at Eling, now 
standing, and bearing this inscription : " Here lies the body of the 
Re*. Mr. Johh Pinhorne, Prebendary of Leckford and Vicar of 
1 linfe who died June 8, 171-i. Aged 62." 



laborious methods to possess himself of knowledge, not 
being content with superficial glances and partial sur- 
veys. 

Having, in his twentieth year, finished his aca- 
demical studies, he returned to his father's house at 
Southampton, where he spent two years in reading, 
meditation, and prayer. On his birth-day, 1698, he 
preached his first sermon, and was the same year cho- 
sen assistent to Dr. Chauncy, pastor of the independ- 
ent church, at their meeting at Mark-lane, London ; 
and such was the approbation he met with, that in Ja- 
nuary 1701-2, he was invited to succeed Dr. Chaun- 
cy in his sacred functions, and accepted the invita- 
tion, March 8, 1701-2, the very day king William III. 
died: notwithstanding the cloud which this discou- 
raging event brought over the prospects of the disseut- 
ers, which in the close of the succeeding reign, was 
ready to burst in showers of calamity, but was happily 
dispelled by the death of queen Anne. 

He was soon after visited with illness (occasioned no 
doubt by his unremitting labours) which threatened all 
the sanguine hopes of his rlock. His confinement was 
long, his recovery slow, and his constitution considera- 
bly impaired. Under these circumstances the Rev. 
Samuel Price was chosen to assist him in the duties ot 
his office : however, his exertions were renewed with his 
strength, and he met with no material interruption in 
the prosecution of his duties, till September 1712, when 



VI 



he was seized with such a violent fever that he became 
so debilitated as to be incapable of performing his mi- 
nistry for more than four years. Mr. Price, his assis- 
tant, wasnowathis own particular request, elected to 
be joint pastor with him; and he was accordingly or- 
dained to this office, March 3, 1? 13 : between these 
two fellow-labourers there subsisted, till death, an in- 
violable friendship. 

The two universities of Edinburgh and Aberdeen, in 
the year 1728, severally conferred on him, unsolicited 
and without his knowledge, the degree of doctor of di- 
vinity. 

Frequent and heavy strokes of illness, added to the 
intense exertions of his mind, threatened speedy disso- 
lution; he could obtain no sleep for several nights suc- 
cessively, except such as was forced by medical prepa- 
rations, and at length opiates lost their virtue and only 
served to aggravate his malady. 

The various stories circulated of his strange nervous 
affections, or rather it should be said, of his intellectual 
derangement, appear to have been the fabrications of 
the designing, and only to have obtained belief with the 
credulous. 

His death, which happened Nov. 25, 1748, fully cor- 
responded with his holy and useful life. For near three 
years prior to this period, his lamp had given such a weak 
and uncertain light, that his friends daily expected its ut- 
ter extinction ; but his prospects were bright and his con- 



vn 



iiJence was firm. Tlie remains of this great man were de- 
posited in Bunhill-fields' burial ground, London, and to 
give a final testimony to his arFection and liberality, his 
pall was supported by six ministers, two of the presby- 
terian, two of the congregational, and two of the anti- 
paedo-baptist denomination : Dr. Samuel Chandler de- 
livered an oration at the grave, and Dr. Jennings preached 
his funeral sermon to the church of which Dr. Watts had 
been pastor, from Hebrews xi. 4. " By it he being 
-dead yet speaketh." Several other eminent charac- 
ters gave similar testimonies of respect to his memory. 
.He gave directions to have only a stone erected over 
the place of his interment, with this humble inscrip- 
tion. — 

" Isaac Watts, D. D. Pastor of a Church of Christ 
" in London : Successor to the Rev. Mr. Joseph Caryl, 
" Dr. John Owen, Mr. David Clarkson, and Dr. Isaac 
" Chauncy ; after fifty years of feeble labours in the 
u gospel, interrupted by four years of tiresome sickness, 
'* was dismissed to his rest. 

" In uno Jesu omnia, 

" 2 Cor. v. 8, Absent from the body, and present 
*' with the Lord. 

" Col. iii. 4. When Christ who is my life shall ap- 
M pear, then shall I also appear with him in glory." 

A handsome tcmb bearing this inscription, with the 
time of his death, was accordingly erected at the joint 
expence of Sir John Hartop, once his pupil - ? and Lady 



Vlll 

Abney, in whose house he for some time, and with in- 
finite happiness, resided. 

In his personal appearance there was little to interest 
the admirers of external comeliness. He was low of 
stature, and his bodily presence was weak, yet there 
was a certain dignity in his countenance, and such pier- 
cing expression in his eyes, as commanded attention 
and awe.. His manner was animated, but not bois- 
terous. At the conclusion of weighty sentences it was 
his custom to pause, that he might quicken the atten- 
tion, and more solemnly impress his wprds upon the 
minds of his hearers. He had cultivated with care and 
singular success the graces of language; the correct- 
ness of his pronunciation, the elegance of his diction, 
and the grandeur of his sentiments, obtained him an 
uncommon share of popularity. 

As an author, no man's posthumous claim upon the 
gratitude of the church and of his country can be urged 
with a more imperative tone : the natural strength of 
his genius, which he cultivated and improved by a very 
considerable acquaintance with the most celebrated 
writers, both ancient and modern ; had enriched his 
mind with a large and uncommon share of just senti- 
ments and useful knowledge of various kinds. The 
Hjmns which have given his name a kind of immor- 
tality in our worshipping assemblies, were written for 
his father's dissenting meeting in Southampton; who, 
fondly attached to his old guides in this service, and 



IX 



impatient of innovation, did not wish to decline the 
original hymns, till he saw how far superior his son's 
were. The 461st number of the Spectator contains a 
poetical version ofthell4th psalm, and an introduc- 
tory letter, both composed and communicated by the 
Doctor to the conductors of that celebrated work. 

Prefixed to the later editions of his floras Lvricss are 
several copies of verses. That of the earliest date, April 
17, 1706, was composed by the Rev. Mr. Joseph Stan- 
den, which is not destitute of poetical merit, and pays 
the highest honour to the Doctor. 

The next commendatory verses in order of time, Ju- 
ly, 1706, are those of Miss Singer, afterwards Mrs. 
Rowe, under the name of Philomela. The numbers 
are remarkably easy and flowing, and the beauties of 
poetry, and the greatest encomiums on the Doctor are 
blended together. 

The Rev. Mr. Henry Grove next adds his commen- 
dations in a copy of verses dated Sept. 4, 1706, which 
does honour to the author as well as the subject of them. 
They contain an inimitable tenderness and beauty of. 
description, and the sublimest panegyric upon the doc- 
tor's Divine Poems. 

A fourth poem is prefixed to the Doctor's Lyrics un- 
der the signature of Britannicus ; the author of which 
could never be ascertained. The only remaining copy 
of verses that introduces the Doctor's Lyrics is sub- 
scribed Eusebia, who without doubt was no less a 



person than the Countess of Hertford, afterwards the 
Duchess of Somerset. The lines are remarkably easy, 
smooth, and poetical; and discover a transcendent es- 
teem of the Doctor's genius and piety. 

Dr. Mather Byles, pastor of one of the churches at 
Boston, in New England, addressed an ode to the Doc- 
tor, Feb. 1, 1727 — 8. Several others have also written 
encomiums upon him both in verse and prose. 



^^^STH^ 



PREFJCE. 



It has been a long complaint of the virtuous and re- 
fined world, that poesy, whose original is divine, should 
be enslaved to vice and profaneness ; that an art in- 
spired from heaven, should have so far lost the me- 
mory of its birth-place, as to be engaged in the inte- 
rests of hell. How unhappily is it perverted from its 
most glorious design ! How basely has it been driven 
away from its proper station in the temple of God, and 
abused to much dishonour ! The iniquity of men has 
constrained it to serve their vilest purposes, while the 
sons of piety mourn the sacrilege and the shame. 

The eldest song which history has brought down to 
our ears, was a noble act of worship paid to the God of 
Israel, when his " right-hand became glorious in pow- 
er; when thy right-hand, O Lord, dashed in pieces 
the enemy : the chariots of Pharaoh and his hosts were 
cast into the Red Sea ; thou didst blow with thy wind, 
the deep covered them, and they sank like lead in the 
mighty waters," Exod. xv. This art was maintained 
sacred through the following ages of the church, and 
employed by kings and prophets, by David, Solomon, 
and Isaiah, in describing the nature and the glories of 
God, and in conveying grace or vengeance to the hearts 



Xll 



ef men. By this method they brought so much of 
heaven down to this lower world, as the darkness of 
that dispensation would admit : and now and then a 
divine and poetic rapture lifted their souls far above 
the level of that (economy of shadows, bore them away 
far into a brighter region, and gave them a glimpse of 
evangelic day. The life of angels was harmoniously 
breathed into the children of Adam, and their minds 
raised near to heaven in melody and devotion at once. 
- In the younger days of heathenism the muses were 
devoted to the same service ; the language in which old 
Hesiod addresses them is this : 



Pierian Muses, fam'd for heavenly lays, 
Descend, and sing the God your Father's praise. 



And he pursues the subject in ten pious lines, which I 
could not forbear to transcribe, if the aspect and sound 
of so much Greek were not terrifying to a nice reader. 

But some of the latter poets of the Pagan world have 
debased this divine gift ; and many of the writers of 
the first rank, in this our age of national Christians, 
have, to their eternal shame, surpassed the vilest of 
the gentiles. They have not 01113' disrobed religion of 
all the ornaments of verse, but have employed their 
pens in pious mischief, to deform her native beauty, and 
defile her honours. They have exposed her most sa- 
cred character to drollery, a-ad dressed her up in a most 






Xlll 

vile and ridiculous disguise, for the scorn of the ruder 
herd of mankind. The vices have been painted like 
so many Goddesses, the charms of wit have been added 
to debauche^, and the temptation heightened where 
nature needs the strongest restraints. With sweetness 
of sound, and delicacy of expression, they have given 
a relish to blasphemies of the harshest kind ; and when 
they rant at their Maker in sonorous numbers, they 
fancy themselves to have acted the hero well. 

Thus almost in vain have the throne and the pulpit 
cried reformation ; while the stage and licentious poems 
have waged open war with the pious design of church 
and state. The press has spread the poison far, and 
scattered wide the mortal infection : Unthinking youth 
have been enticed to sin beyond the vicious propensi- 
ties of nature, plunged early into diseases and death, 
and sunk down to damnation in multitudes. Was it 
for this that poesy was endued with all those allure- 
ments that lead the mind away in a pleasing captivity ? 
Was it for this, she was furnished with so many intel- 
lectual charms, that she might seduce the heart from 
God, the original beauty, and the most lovely of beings ? 
Can I ever be persuaded, that those sweet and resist- 
less forces of metaphor, wit, sound, and number, were 
given with this design, that they should be all ranged 
under the banner of the great malicious spirit, to in- 
vade the rights of heaven, and to bring swift and ever- 
lasting destruction upon men ? How will these allies of 



XIV 



the nether world, the lewd and profane versifiers, stand 
aghast before the great Judge, when the blood of many 
souls, whom they never saw, shall be laid to the charge 
of their writings, and be dreadfully requited at their 
hands ? The reverend Mr. Collier has set this awful 
scene before them in just and naming colours. If the 
application were not too rude and uncivil, that noble 
stanza of my Lord Roscommon, on Psalm cxlviii. might 
be addressed to them: 

Ye dragons, whose contagious breath 

Peoples the dark retreats of death, 

Change your dire hissings into heavenly songs, 

And praise your Maker with your forked tongues. 

This profanation and debasement of so divine an art, 
has tempted some weaker Christians to imagine that poe- 
try and vice are naturally akin ; or at least, that verse 
is fit only to recommend trifles, and entertain our looser 
hours, but is too light and trivial a method to treat any 
thing that is serious and sacred. They submit, indeed, 
to use it in divine psalmody, but they love the driest 
translation of the psalm best. They will venture to sing 
a dull hymn or two at church, in tunes of equal dul- 
ness ; but still they persuade themselves, and their chil- 
dren, that the beauties of poesy are vain and dange- 
rous. All that arises a degree above Mr. Sternhold is 
too airy for worship, and hardly escapes the sentence 
of unclean and abominable. 'Tis strange, that per- 



>:v 



sons that have the Bible in their hands, should be led 
away by thoughtless prejudices to so wild and rash an 
opinion. Let me entreat them not to indulge this sour, 
this censorious humour too far, lest the sacred writers 
fall under the lash of their unlimited and unguarded 
reproaches. Let me entreat them to look into their 
bibles, and remember the style and way of writing that 
is used by the ancient prophets. Have they forgot, or 
were they never told, that many parts of the Old Tes- 
tament are Hebrew verse ? and the figures are stronger, 
and the metaphors bolder, and the images more sur- 
prising and strange than ever were read in any profane 
writer. When Deborah sings her praises to the God 
of Israel, while he marched from the field of Edom, 
she sets the " earth a trembling, the heavens drop, 
and the mountains dissolve from before the Lord. They 
fought from heaven, the stars in their courses fought 
against Sisera : When the river of Kishon swept them 
away, that ancient river, the river Kishon. O my 
soul, thou hast trodden down strength, ,r Judg. v. &c. 
When Eliphaz, in the book of Job, speaks his sense of 
the holiness of God, he introduces a machine in a vi- 
sion : " Fear came upon me, trembling on all my 
bones, the hair of my flesh stood up ; a spirit passed 
by and stood still, but its form was undiscernible ; an 
image before mine eyes ; and silence ; then I heard a 
voice, saying, shall mortal man be more just than 
God ?" <kc. Job iv. When he describes the safety of 



XVI 

the righteous, he hides him from the scourge of the 
tongue, he makes him laugh at destruction and famine, 
he brings the stones of the field into league with him, 
and makes the brute animals enter into a covenant of 
peace, Job v. 21, &c. When Job speaks of the grave, 
how melancholy is the gloom that he spreads over it ! 
It is a region to which I must shortly go, " and whence 
I shall not return j it is a land of darkness, it is darkness 
itself, the land of the shadow of death ; all confusion 
and disorder, and where the light is as darkness. This 
is my house, there have I made my bed : I have said 
to corruption, thou art my father, and to the worm, 
thou art my mother and my sister: arid for my hope, 
who shall see it ? 1 and my hope go down together to 
the bars of the pit," Job x. 21. and xvii. 13. When he 
humbles himself in complainings before the almighti- 
ness of God, what contemptible and feeble images doth 
he use ! " Wilt thou break a leaf driven to and fro ? 
Wilt thou pursue the dry stubble? I consume away 
like a rotten thing, a garment eaten by the moth," 
Job xiii. 25, &c. " Thou liftest me up to the wind, 
thou causest me to ride upon it, and dissolvest my sub- 
stance," Job xxiii. 22. Can any man invent more 
despicable ideas to represent the scoundrel herd and 
refuse of mankind, than those which Job uses? Chap. 
xxx. and thereby he aggravates his own sorrows and 
reproaches to amazement: "They that are younger 
than 1 have me in derision, whose fathers 1 would have 



xvn 

disdained to have set with the dogs of my flock : for 
want and famine they were solitary ; fleeing into the 
wilderness desolate and waste : They cut up mallows 
by the bushes, and juniper-roots for their meat : They 
were driven forth from among men, (they cried after 
them as after a thief) to dwell in the cliffs of the val- 
lies, in the caves of the earth, and in rocks : Among 
the bushes they brayed, under the nettles they were 
gathered together ; they were children of fools, yea, 
children of base men; they were viler than the earth : 
And now am I their song, yea, I am their by-word," 
&c. How mournful and dejected is the language of 
his own sorrows ! " Terrors are turned upon him, they 
pursue his soul as the wind, and his welfare passes 
away as a cloud : his bones are pierced within him, and 
his soul is poured out ; he goes mourning without the 
sun, a brother to dragons, a companion to owls ; while 
his harp and organ are turned into the voice of them 
that weep." I must transcribe one half of this holy 
book, if I would shew the grandeur, the variety, and 
the justness of his ideas, or the pomp and beauty of his 
expression : T must copy out a good part of the writ- 
ings of David and Isaiah, if I would represent the poe- 
tical excellencies of their thoughts and style: Nor is 
the language of the lesser prophets, especially in some 
paragraphs, much inferior to these. 

Now while they paint human nature in its various 
forms and circumstances, if their designing be so just 



XV1U 

and noble, their disposition so artful, and their co- 
louring so bright, beyond the most famed human -writ- 
ers, how much more must their descriptions of God and 
heaven exeeed all that is possible to be said by a meaner 
tongue ? When they speak of the dwelling-place of 
God, (< He inhabits eternity, and sits upon the throne 
of his holiness, in the midst of light inaccessible. " 
When his holiness is mentioned, u the heavens are not 
clean in his sight, he charges his angels with folly : he 
looks to the moon, and it shineth not, and the stars are 
not pure before his eyes : he is a jealous God, and a 
consuming fire." If we speak of strength, u Behold, 
lie is strong : he removes the mountains, and they know 
it not: he overturns them in his anger: he shakes the 
earth from her place, and her pillars tremble : he makes 
a path through the mighty waters, he discovers the 
foundations of the world : the pillars of heaven are asto- 
nished at his reproof." And after all, <( these are but a 
portion of his ways : the thunder of his power who can 
understand ?" His sovereignty, his knowledge, and his 
wisdom, are revealed to us in language vastly superior 
to all the poetical accounts of heathen divinity. <( Let 
the potsherds strive with the potsherds of the earth ; 
but shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, what 
makest thou ? He bids the heavens drop down from above, 
and let the skies pour down righteousness. He com- 
mands the sun, and it riseth not, and he sealeth up the 
stars. It is he that saith to the deep, be dry, and he 



XIX 

drieth up the rivers. Woe to them that seek deep to 
hide their counsel from the Lord ; his eyes are upon all 
their ways, he understands their thoughts afar off. Hell 
is naked before him, and destruction hath no covering. 
He calls out all the stars by their names, he fustrateth 
the tokens of the liars, and makes the diviners mad : 
he turns wise men backward, and their knowledge be- 
comes foolish." His transcendent eminence above all 
things is most nobly represented, when he ' ' sits upon the 
circle of the earth, and the inhabitants thereof are as 
grasshoppers : all nations before him are as the drop of 
a bucket, and as the small dust of the balance : he takes 
up the isles as a very little thing; Lebanon, with all her 
beasts, is not sufficient for a sacrifice to this God," nor 
are all the trees " sufficient for the burning." This God 
before whom " the whole creation is as nothing, yea, 
less than nothing, and vanity." " To which of all the 
heathen gods then will ye compare me, saith the Lord, 
and what shall I be likened to ?" And to which of all 
the heathen poets shall we liken or oompare this glo- 
rious orator, the sacred describer of the godhead ? The 
orators of all nations are as nothing before him, and 
their words are vanity and emptiness. Let us turn our 
eyes now to some of the holy writings, where God is 
creating the world : how meanly do the best of the 
Gentiles talk and trifle upon this subject, when brought 
into comparison with Moses, whom Longinus himself, a 
Gentile critic, cites as a master of the sublime style, 



XX 



when he chose to use it : " And the Lord said, let there 
be light, and there was light ; let there be clouds and 
seas, sun and stars, plants and animals, and behold they 
are i 9i he commanded, and they appear and obey : " by 
the word of the Lord were the heavens made, and all 
the host of them by the breath of his mouth :" this is 
working like a God, with infinite ease and omnipo- 
tence. His wonders of Providence for the terror and 
ruin of his adversaries, and for the succour of his saints, 
is set before our eyes in the scripture with equal mag- 
nificence, and as becomes divinity. When " he arises out 
of his place, the earth trembles, the foundations of the 
hills are shaken because he is wroth : there goes a 
smoke up out of his nostrils, and fire out of his mouth 
devoureth, coals are kindled by it. He bows the hea- 
vens, and comes down, and darkness is under his feet. 
The mountains melt like wax, and flow down at his 
presence." If Virgil, Homer, or Pindar, were to pre- 
pare an equipage for a descending God, they might use 
thunder and lightnings too, and clouds and fire, to 
form a chariot and horses for the battle, or the triumph ; 
but there is none of them provides him a flight of cherubs 
instead of horses, or seats him in chariots of salvation. 
David beholds him riding " upon the heaven of heavens, 
by his name Jaii : he was mounted upon a cherub, and 
did fly, he flew on the wings of the wind ;" and Habba- 
kuk " sends the pestilence before him." Homer keeps a 
mighty stir with his Ns<ps\y)ysg{laL Zeis, and Hesiod 
with his Ztvs j;\|w/3ff/x,c , r^. Jupiter, that raises up the 



XXI 

clouds, and that makes a noise, or thunders on high. 
But a divine poet makes the if clouds hut the dust of his 
feet ; and when the Highest gives his voice in the hea- 
vens, hail-stones and coals of fire follow." A divine 
poet " discovers the channels of the waters, and lavs 
open the foundations of nature ; at thy rebuke, O Lord, 
at the blast of the breath of thy nostrils." When the 
Holy One alighted upon Mount Sinai, " his glory covered 
the heavens ; he stood and measured the earth : he 
beheld and drove asunder the nations, and the ever- 
lasting mountains were scattered: the perpetual hills 
did bow ; his ways are everlasting." Then the prophet 
te saw the tents of Cushan in affliction, and the curtains of 
the land of Midian did tremble." fla&.iii.4. Nor did the 
Blessed Spirit which animated these writers forbid them 
the use of visions, dreams, the opening of scenes dread- 
ful and delightful, and the introduction of machines 
upon great occasions : the divine licence in this respect 
is admirable and surprising, and the images are often 
too bold and dangerous for an uninspired writer to imi- 
tate. Mr. Dennis has made a noble essay to discover 
how much superior inspired poesy is to the brightest 
and best descriptions of a mortal pen. Perhaps, if his 
Proposal of Criticism had been encouraged and pursued, 
the nation might have learnt more value for the word 
of God, and the wits of the age might have been secu- 
red from the danger of deism ; while they must have 
been forced to confess at least the divinity of all the 






XXII 

poetical books of scripture, when they see a genius run- 
ning through them more than human. 

Who is there now will dare to assert, that the doc- 
trines of our holy faith will not indulge or endure a_. 
delightful dress ? shall the French poet * affright us by 
saying, 

De la foy d'un Chretien les mysteres terribles, 
D> Ornemens egayez ne sont point susceptibles ? 

But the French critic t, in his Reflections upon Elc*- 
quence, tells us, r * that the majesty of our religion, the 
" holiness of its laws, the purity of its morals, the 
" height of its mysteries, and the importance of every 
* f subject that belongs to it requires a grandeur, a noble- 
" ness, a majesty, and elevation of style suited to the 
" theme : sparkling images and magnificent expressions 
" must be used, and are best borrowed from scripture : 
M let the preacher, that aims at eloquence, read the 
" prophets incessantly, for their writings are an abun- 
" dant source of all the riches and ornaments of speech. " 
And, in my opinion, this is far better counsel than Ho- 
race gives us, when he says, 

Vos examplaria Graeca 

Nocturna versate Manu, versate diurna. 

As in the conduct of my studies with regard to divi- 
nity, I have reason to repent of nothing more than that 

* Boileau. + Rapin. 



XX111 

I have not perused the Bible with more frequency ; so if 
I were to set up for a poet, with a design to exceed all 
the modern writers, I would follow the advice of Rapin, 
and read the prophets night and day. I am sure, the 
composures of the following hook would have been 
filled with much greater sense, and appeared with much 
more agreeable ornaments, had I derived a larger por- 
tion from, the holy script ..res. 

Besides, we may fetch a further answer to Mons. 
Boileau's objection, from other poets of his own country. 
What a noble use have Racine and Corneille made of 
christian subjects, in some of their^best tragedies I what 
a variety of divine scenes are displayed, and pious 
passions awakened in those poems ? the Martyrdom of 
Polyeucte, how doth it reign over our love and pity, and 
at the same time animate our zeal and devotion ! may 
I here be permitted the liberty to return my thanks to 
that fair and ingenious hand* that directed me to such 
entertainments in a foreign language, which I had iong 
wished for, and sought in vain in our own. Yet I must 
confess, that the Davideis, and the two Arthurs, have so 
far answered Boileau's objection, in English, as that 
the obstacles of attempting christian poesy are broken 
down, and the vain pretence of its being impracticable, 
is experimentally confuted-f*. 

* Philomela. 

+ Sir Richard Blackmore, in his admirable preface to his last poem 
entitled Alfred, has more copiously refuted all Boileau's arguments 



XXIV 

It is true indeed the christian mysteries have not such 
need of gay trappings as beautified, or rather composed, 
the heathen superstition. Bat this still makes for the 
greater ease and surer success of the poet. The won- 
ders of our religionj in a plain narration and a simple 
dress, have a native grandeur, a dignity, and a beauty 
in them, though they do not utterly disdain all methods 
of ornament. The book of the Revelations seems to be 
a prophecy in the form of an opera, or dramatic poem, 
where divine art illustrates the subject with many 
charming glories; but still it must be acknowledged, 
that the naked themes of Christianity have something 
brighter and bolder in them, something more surprising 
and celestial than all the adventures of gods and heroes, 
all the dazzling images of false lustre that form and gar- 
nish a heathen song : here the very argument would 
give wonderful aids to the muse, and the heavenly 
theme would so relieve a dull hour, and a languishing 
genius, that when the muse nods, the sense would burn 
and sparkle upon the reader, and keep him feelingly 
awake. 

With how much less toil and expence might a Dry- 
den, an Otway, a Congreve, or a Dennis, furnish out a 
christian poem, than a modern play ? there is nothing 
amongst all the ancient fables, or later romances, that 
have two such extremes united in them, as the Eternal 



on this subject, and that with great justice and elegance, 1723. I am 
persuaded that many persons who despise this poem would acknow- 
geled the just sentiments of that preface. 



XXV 

God becoming an infant of days; the possessor of the 
palace of Heaven laid to sleep in a manger; the holy 
Jesus, who knew no sin, bearing the sins of men in his 
body on the tree ; agonies of sorrow loading the soul of 
him who was God over all, blessed for ever ; and the 
Sovereign of Life stretching his arms on a cross, bleed- 
ing and expiring. The heaven and the hell in our Di- 
vinity are infinitely more delightful and dreadful than 
the childish figments of a dog with three heads, the 
buckets of the Belides, the furies with snaky hairs, or 
all the flowery stories of Elysium. And if we survey 
the one as themes divinely true, and the other as a 
raedly of fooleries which we can never believe, the 
advantage for touching the springs of passion will fall 
infinitely on the side of the Christian poet; our wonder 
and our love, our pity, delight, and sorrow, with the 
long train of hopes and fears, must needs be under the 
command of an harmonious pen, whose every line makes 
a part of the reader's faith, and is the very life* or death 
of his soul. 

If the trifling and incredible tales that furnish out a 
tragedy, are so armed by wit and fancy, as to become 
sovereign of the rational powers, to triumph over all 
the affections, and manage our smiles and our tears at 
pleasure ; how wonderous a conquest might be obtained 
over a wild world, and reduce it at least, to sobriety, 
if the same happy talent were employed in dressing 
the scenes of religion in their proper figures of majesty, 



XXY1 

sweetness and terror ? The wonders of Creating Power, 
of Redeeming Love, and Renewing Grace, ought not 
to be thus impiously neglected by those whom Heaven 
has endued with a gift so proper to adorn and cultivate 
them ; an art whose sweet insinuations might almost 
convey piety in resisting nature, and melt the hardest 
souls to the love of virtue. The affairs of this life, with 
their reference to a life to come, would shine bright in 
a dramatic description ; nor is there any need or any 
reason why we should always borrow the plan or history 
from the ancient Jews, or primitive martyrs ; though 
several of these would furnish out noble materials for 
this sort of poesy : but modern scenes would be better 
understood by most readers, and the application would 
be much more easy. The anguish of inward guilt, the 
secret stings, and racks, and scourges of conscience ; the 
sweet retiring hour, and seraphical joys of devotion ; 
the victory of a resolved soul over a thousand tempta- 
tions ; the inimitable love and passion of a dying God ; 
the awful glories of the last tribunal ; the grand decisive 
sentence, from which there is no appeal ; and the con- 
sequent transports or horrors of the two eternal worlds ; 
these things may be variously disposed, and form many 
poems. How might such performances, under a Divine 
Blessing, call back the dying piety of the nation to life 
and beauty ? This would make religion appear like 
itself, and confound the blasphemies of a profligate 
world, ignorant of pious pleasures. 






xxvn 

But we have reason to fear, that the tuneful men of 
our day have not raised their ambition to so divine a 
pitch; I should rejoice to see more of this celestial fire 
kindling within them ; for the flashes that break out in 
some present and past writings, betray an infernal 
source. This the incomparable Mr. Cowley, in the 
latter end of his Preface, and the ingenious Sir Richard 
Blackmore, in the beginning of his, have so pathetically 
described and lamented, that I rather refer the reader to 
mourn with them, than detain and tire him here. These 
gentlemen, in their large and laboured works of poesy, 
have given the world happy examples of what they 
wish and encourage in prose ; the one in a rich variety 
of thought and fancy, the other in all the shining co- 
lours of profuse and florid diction. 

If shorter sonnets were composed on sublime subjects, 
•such as the Psalms of David, and the holy transports 
interspersed in the other sacred writings, or such as the 
moral Odes of Horace, and the antient Lyrics ; I per- 
suade myself, that the Christian preacher would find 
abundant aid from the poet, in his design to diffuse 
virtue, and allure souls to God. If the heart were first 
inflamed from heaven, and the muse were not left alone 
to form the devotion, and pursue a cold scent, but only 
called in as an assistant to the worship, then the song 
would end where the inspiration ceases ; the whole 
composure would be of a piece, all meridian light and 
-meridian fervour : and the same pious flame would be 



xxvm 

propagated, and kept glowing in the heart of him that 
reads. Some of the shorter odes of the two poets now 
mentioned, and a few of the Reverend Mr. Norris's 
Essays in verse, are convincing instances of the success 
of this proposal. 

It is my opinion also, that the free and unconfmed 
numbers of Pindar, or the noble measures of Milton 
without rhyme, would best maintain the dignity of the 
theme, as well as give a loose- to the devout soul, nor 
check the raptures of her faith and love. Though in 
my feeble attempts of this kind, I have too often 
fettered my thoughts in the narrow metre of our psalm 
translators j I have contracted and cramped the sense, 
or rendered it obscure and feeble, by the two speedy 
and regular returns of rhyme. 

If my friends expect any reason of the following 
composures, and of the first or second publication, I 
entreat them to accept of this account. 

The title assures them that poesy is not the business 
of my life ; and if I seized those hours of leisure, where- 
in my soul was in a more sprightly frame, to entertain 
them or myself, with a divine or moral song, I hope I 
shall find an easy pardon. 

In the First Book are many odes which were written 
to assist the meditations and worship of vulgar Chris- 
tians, and with a design to be published in the volume 
of Iannis, which have now passed a second impression ; 
but upon the review, I found some expressions that 



XXIX 

>vere not suited to the plainest capacity, and the meta- 
phors are too bold to please the weaker Christian, there- 
fore I have allotted them a place here. 

Amongst the Songs that are dedicated to Divine 
Love, I think I may be bold to assert, that I never 
composed one line of them with any other design than 
what they are applied to here ; and I have endeavoured 
to secure them all from being perverted and debased to 
wanton passions, by several lines in them that can never 
be applied to a meaner love. Are not the noblest in- 
stances of the grace of Christ represented under the 
figure of a conjugal state, and described in one of the 
sweetest odes, and the softest pastoral that ever was 
written ? I appeal to Solomon, * in his Song, and his 
father David, in Psalm xlv. if David was the author : 
And 1 am well assured, that I have never indulged an 
equal licence : It was dangerous to imitate the sacred 
writers too nearly, in so nice an affair. 

The Poems sacred to Virtue, &c. were formed when 
the frame and humour of my soul was just suited to the 
subject of my verse : The image of my heart is painted 
in them; and if they meet with a reader whose soul is 
akin to mine, perhaps they may agreeably entertain 
him. The dulness of the fancy, and coarseness of ex- 
pression, will disappear ; the sameness of the humour 



* Solomon's Song was much more in use among preachers and 
writers of divinity when these poems were written than it is now 
1736. 



XXX 

-will create a pleasure, and insensibly overcome and 
conceal the defects of the muse. Young gentlemen 
and ladies, whose genius and education have given 
them a relish of oratory and verse, may be tempted to 
seek satisfaction among the dangerous diversions of the 
stage, and impure sonnets, if there be no provision of 
a safer kind made to please them. While I have at- 
tempted to gratify innocent fancy in this respect, I 
have not forgotten to allure the heart to virtue, and to 
raise it a to disdain of brutal pleasures, The frequent 
interposition of a devout thought may awaken the mind 
to a serious sense of God, religion, and eternity. The 
same duty that might be despised in a sermon, when 
proposed to their reason, may here, perhaps, seize the 
lower faculties with surprise, delight, and devotion at 
once ; and thus, by degrees, draw the superior powers 
of the mind to piety. Amongst the infinite numbers 
of mankind, there is not more difference in their out- 
ward shape and features, than in their temper and in- 
ward inclination. Some are more easily susceptive of 
religion in a grave discourse and sedate reasoning. 
Some are best frighted from sin and ruin by terror, 
threatening and amazement ; their fear is the properest 
passion to which we can address ourselves, and begin 
the divine work : Others can feel no motive so powerful 
as that which applies itself to their ingenuity, and their 
polished imagination. Now I thought it lawful to take 
hold of any handle of the soul, to lead it away be 






xxxt 

times from vicious pleasures : and if I could but make 
up a composition of virtue and delight, suited to the 
taste of well-bred youth, and a refined education, I had 
some hope to allure and raise them thereby above the 
vile temptations of degenerate nature, and custom, that 
is yet more degenerate. When I have felt a slight in- 
clination to satire or burlesque, I thought it proper to 
suppress it. The grinning and the growling muse are 
not hard to be obtained ; but I would disdain their as- 
sistance, where a manly invitation to virtue, and a 
friendly smile may be successfully employed. Cuuld 
I persuade any man by a kinder method, I should 
never think it proper to scold or laugh at him. 

Perhaps there are some morose readers, that stand 
ready to condemn every line that's written upon the 
theme of love ; but have we not the cares and the feli- 
cities of that sort of social life represented to us in the 
sacred writings ? Some expressions are there used with 
a design to give a mortifying influence to our softest 
affections ; others again brighten the character of that 
state, and allure virtuous souls to pursue the divine ad- 
vantage of it, the mutual assistance in the way to sal- 
vation. Are not the cxxvii. and cxxviii. Psalms indited 
on this very subject? Shall it be lawful for the press' 
and the pulpit to treat of it with a becoming solemnity 
in prose, and must the mention of the same thing in 
poesy be pronounced for ever unlawful ? Is it utterly 
unworthy of a serious character to write on this argu- 



XXX11 

merit, because it has been unhappily polluted by some 
scurrilous pens ? Why may I not be permitted to ob- 
viate a common and a growing mischief, while a thou- 
sand vile poems of the amorous kind swarm abroad, 
and give a vicious taint to the unwary reader ? 1 would 
tell the world that I have endeavoured to recover this 
argument out of the hands of impure writers, and to 
make it appear, that virtue and love are not such 
strangers as they are represented. The blissful inti- 
macy of souls in that state will afford sufficient furniture 
for the gravest entertainment in verse ; so that it need 
not be everlastingly dressed up in ridicule, nor assumed 
only to furnish out the lewd sonnets of the times. May 
some happier genius promote the same service that I 
have proposed, and hy superior sense, and sweeter sound, 
render what I have written contemptible and useless. 

The imitations of that noblest Latin poet of modern 
ages, Casimire Sarbiewski of Poland, would need no 
excuse, did they but arise to the beauty of the original 
I have often taken the freedom to add ten or twenty 
lines, or to leave out as many, that I might suit my 
song more to my own design, or because I saw it im- 
possible to preserve the force, the fineness, and the fire 
of his expression in our language. There are a few 
copies wherein I borrowed some hints from the same 
author, without the mention of his name in the title. 
Methinks I can allow so superior a genius now and 
then to be lavish in his imagination, and to indulge 



XXX111 

some excursions beyond the limits of sedate judgment . 
the riches and glory of his verse make atonement in 
abundance. T wish some English pen would import 
more of his treasures, and bless our nation. 

The inscriptions to particular friends, are warranted 
and defended by the practice of almost all the lyric 
writers. They frequently convey the rigid rules of 
morality to the mind in the softer method of applause. 
Sustained by their example, a man will not easily be 
overwhelmed by the heaviest censures of the unthink- 
ing and unknowing; especially when there is a shadow 
of this practice in the divine Psalmist, while he inscribes 
to Asaph or Jeduthun his songs that were made for the 
harp, or, which is all one, his lyric odes, though they 
are addressed to God himself. 

In the poems of heroic measure, I have attempted in 
rhyme the same variety of cadence, comma and period, 
which blank verse glories in as its peculiar elegance and 
ornament. It degrades the excellency of the best ver- 
sification when the lines run on by couplets, twenty to- 
gether, just in the same pace, and with the same pauses. 
It spoils the noblest pleasure of the sound : the reader 
is tired with the tedious uniformity, or charmed to sleep 
with the unmanly softness of the numbers, and the per- 
petual chime of even cadences. 

In the essays without rhyme, I have not set up Mil- 
ton for a perfect pattern ; though he shall be for ever 
honoured as our deliverer from the bondage* His works 



XXXIV 

contain admirable and unequalled instances of bright 
and beautiful diction, as well as majesty and serene- 
ness of thought. There are several episodes in his longer 
works, that stand in supreme dignity without a rival ; 
yet all that vast reverence with which I read his Pa- 
radise Lost, cannot persuade me to be charmed with 
every page of it. The length of his periods, and some- 
times of his parenthesis, runs me out of breath : some o{ 
his numbers seem too harsh and uneasy. I could never 
believe that roughness and obscurity added any thing 
to the true grandeur of a poem : nor will I ever affect 
archaisms, exoticisms, and a quaint uncouthness 01 
speech, in order to become perfectly Miltonian. It is 
my opinion that blank verse may be written with all 
due elevation of thought in a modern style, without 
borrowing any thing from Chaucer's Tales, or running 
back so far as the days of Colin the Shepherd, and the 
reign of the Fairy Queen. The oddness of an antique 
sound gives but a false pleasure to the ear, and abuses 
the true relish, even when it works delight. There were 
some such judges of poesy among the old Romans, and 
Martial ingeniously laughs at one of them, that was 
pleased even to astonishment with obsolete words and 
iigures. 

Attonitusque legis terrai frugiferai. 

So the ill-drawn postures and distortions of shape that 
we meet with in Chinese pictures charm a sickly fancy 
by their very aukwardness; so a distempered appetite 
will chew coals and sand, and pronounce it gustful. 






XXXV 

In the Pindarics I have generally conformed my 
lines to the shorter size of the ancient, and avoided to 
imitate the excessive lengths to which some modern 
writers have stretched their sentences, and especially 
the Concluding verse. In these the ear is the truest 
judge -, nor was it made to be enslaved by any precise 
model of elder or later times. 

After all, I must petition my reader to lay aside the 
sour and sullen air of criticism, and to assume the 
friend. Let him choose such copies to read at particu- 
lar hours, when the temper of his mind is suited to the 
song. Let him come with a desire to be entertained 
and pleased, rather than to seek his own disgust and 
aversion, which will not be hard to find. I am not so 
vain as to think there are no faults, nor so blind as to 
espy none : though I hope the multitude of alterations 
in this second edition are not without amendment. 
There is so large a difference between this and the for- 
mer, in the change of titles, lines, and whole poems, 
as well as in the various transpositions, that it would be 
useless and endless, and all confusion, for any reader 
to compare them throughout. The additions also make 
up almost half the book, and some of these have need 
of as many alterations as the former. Many a line 
needs the file to polish the roughness of it, and many 
a thought wants richer language to adorn and make it 
shine. Wide defects and equal superfluities may be 
found, especially in the larger pieces ; but 1 have at 
c 2 



XXXV 1 

present neither inclination or leisure to correct, and I 
hope I never shall. It is one of the biggest satisfac- 
tions I take in giving this volume to the world, that I 
expect to be for ever free from the temptation of mak- 
ing or mending poems again.* So that my friends may 
be perfectly secure against this impression's growing 
waste upon their hands, and useless as the former has 
done. Let minds that are better furnished for suc4i 
performances pursue these studies, if they are con- 
vinced that poesy can be made serviceable to religion 
and virtue. As'for myself, I almost blush to think that 
I have read so little, and written so much. The ioL 
lowing years of my life shall be more entirely devoted 
to the immediate and direct labours of my station, ex- 
cepting those hours that may be imployed in finishing 
my imitation of the Psalms of David, in Christian lan- 
guage, which I have now promised the world, t 

I cannot court the world to purchase this book for 
their pleasure or entertainment, by telling them that 
any one copy entirely pleases me. The best of them 
sinks below the idea which I form of a divine or moral 
ode. He that deals in the mysteries of heaven, or of 



* Naturam expellasfurca licet, usque recurret. . .Hor. Will thi $ 
short note of Horace excuse a man who has resisted nature many 
years, but has been sometimes overcome ? 1736. Edition the 7th, 

f In the year 1719 these were finished and printed. 



xxxvn 

the muses, should be a genius of no vulgar mould : 
and, as the name vates belongs to both ; so the furni- 
ture of both is comprised in that line of Horace, 

Cui mens divinior, atque os 

Magna sonaturum. . . . 

But what Juvenal spake in his age, abides true in 
ours : a complete poet or a prophet is such a one ; 

. . . .Q.ualem nequeo monstrare, etsentio tantum. 

Perhaps neither of these characters in perfection 
shall ever be seen on earth, till the seventh angel has 
sounded his awful trumpet; till the victory be com- 
pleat over the beast and his image, when* the natives 
of heaven shall join in consort with prophets and saints, 
and sing to their golden harps, salvation, honour, and 
glory to him that sits upon the throne, and to the Lamb 
for ever." 

May 14, 1709, 



xxxvm 

TO DR. WATTS, ON THE FIFTH EDITION OF HIS 

HOUM LYRICJE. 

OOVEREIGN of sacred verse, accept the lays 

Of a young bard that dares attempt thy praise. 
A muse, the meanest of the vocal throng, 
New to the bays, nor equal to the song. 
Fir'd with the growing glories of thy fame, 
Joins all her powers to celebrate thy name. 

No vulgar themes thy pious muse engage, 
No scenes of lust pollute thy sacred page ; 
You in majestic numbers mount the skies, 
And meet descending angels as you rise, 
Whose just applauses charm the crowded groves, 
And Addison thy tuneful song approves. 
Soft harmony and manly vigour join, 
To form the beauties of each sprightly line, 
For every grace of every muse is thine. 
Milton, immortal bard, divinely bright, 
Conducts his fav'rite to the realms of light. 
Where Raphael's lyre charms the celestial throng, 
"Delighted cherubs list'ning to the song : 
From bliss to bliss the happy beings rove 5 
And taste the sweets of music and of love. 
But when the softer scenes of life you paint, 
And join the beauteous virgin to the saint; 
When you describe how few the happy pairs, 
Whose hearts united, soften all their cares ; 
We see to whom the sweetest joys belong, 
And Myra's beauties consecrate your song. 
Fain the unnumber'd graces I would tell, 
And on the pleasing theme for ever dwell ; 



XXXIX 

But the muse faints, unequal to the flight, 
And hears thy strains with wonder and delight. 
When tombs of princes shall in ruins lie, 
And all, but heaven-born Piety, shall die. 
When the last trumpet wakes the silent dead, 
And each lascivious poet hides his head, 
With thee shall thy divine Urania rise, 
Crown'd with fresh laurels, to thy native skies : 
Great Howe and Gouge shall hail thee on thy way, 
And welcome thee to the bright realms of day, 
Adopt thy tuneful notes to heavenly strings, 
And join the Lyric Ode while some fair seraph sings. 
Sic spirat, sic optat, 

Tui amantissimus, 

BRITANNIC VS 



ON READING MR. WATTS's POEMS 

SACRED TO PIETY AND DEVOTWN 

XtEGARD the man who in seraphic lays, 

And flowing numbers, sings his Maker's praise : 

He needs invoke no fabled muse's art, 

The heav'nly song comes genuine from the heart ; 

From that pure heart, which God has deign'd t' inspire 

With holy raptures, and a sacred fire. 

Thrice happy man ! whose soul, and guiltless breast, 

Are well prepar'd to lodge th' Almighty guest ! 

J Tis HE that lends thy tow'ring thoughts their wing, 

And tunes thy lyre, when thou attempt'st to sing . 

HE to thy soul lets in celestial day, 

Ev'n whilst imprison'd in this mortal clay. 

By death's grim aspect thou art not alarm'd, 

HE, for thy sake, has death itself disann'd : 



xl 

Nor shall the grave o'er thee a vict'ry boast, 
Her triumph in thy rising shall be lost, 
When thou shalt join the angelic choirs above, 
In never ending songs of praise and love. 



EUSEBIA. 



(STo ®r i£att£ on trig 
FOE MS SACRED TO DEVOTION. 



i O murmuring streams, in tender strains, 

My pensive muse no more 
Of love's enchanting force complains, 
Along the fiow'ry shore. 

No more Mirtilio's fatal face 

My quiet breast alarms ; 
His eyes, his air, and youthful grace, 

Have lost their usual charms. 

No gay Alexis in the grove 

Shall be my future theme : 
I burn with an immortal love, 

And sing a purer flame. 



xli 

Seraphic heights 1 seem to gain, 

And sacred transports feel, 
While, WATTS, to thy celestial strain, 

Surpriz'd, I listen still. 

The gliding streams their course forbear. 

When I thy lays repeat ; 
The bending forest lends an ear, 

The birds their notes forget. 

With such a graceful harmony, 

Thy numbers still prolong ; 
And let remotest lands reply, 

And echo to thy song. 

Far as the distant regions, where 

The beauteous morning springs, 
And scatters odours through the air 

From her resplendent wings; 

Unto the new-found realms, which see 

The latter sun arise, 
When, with an easy progress, he 

Rolls down the nether skies. 

July, 1706, PHILOMELA 



xlii 

TO MR. I. WATTS, ON READING HIS 

HORJE LYRICJE. 

JlaAIL, heaven-born Muse ! that with celestial flame, 

And high seraphic numbers, durst attempt 

To gain thy native skies. No common theme 

Merits thy thought, self-conscious of a soul 

Superior, though on earth detained awhile ; 

Like some propitious angel, that's designed 

A resident in this inferior orb, 

To guide the wand'ring souls to heavenly bliss, 

Thou seem'st ; while thou their everlasting songs 

Hast sung to mortal ears, and down to earth 

Transfer'd the work of heav'n ; with thought sublime, 

And high sonorous words, thou sweetly sing'st 

To thy immortal lyre. Amaz'd, we view 

The tow'ring height stupendous, while thou soar'st 

Above the reach of vulgar eyes or thought, 

Hymning th' eternal Father j as of old 

When first th' Almighty from the dark abyss 

Of everlasting night and silence call'd 

The shining worlds with one creating word, 

And rais'd from nothing all the heav'nly hosts, 

And with external glories fill'd the void, 

Harmonious Seraphs tun'd their golden harps, 

And with their chearful Hallelujahs blessed 

The bounteous author of their happiness j 

From orb to orb th' alternate music rang, 

And from the chrystal arches of the sky 

Reach'd our then glorious world, the native seat 

Of the first happy pair, who join'd their songs 

To the loud echo's of th' angelic choirs, 

And fill'd with blissful hymns, terrestrial heaven ;. 



xliii 

The paradise of God, where all delights 
Abounded, and the pure ambrosial air, 
Fann'd by mild zephyrs, breath'd eternal sweets, 
Forbidding death and sorrow, and bestow'd 
Fresh heavenly bloom, and gay immortal youth. 

Not so, alas ! the vile apostate race, 
Who in mad joys their brutal hours employ'd, 
Assaulting with their impious blasphemies 
The Power supreme, who gave 'em life and breathy 
Incarnate Fiends ! outrageous they defy'd 
Th' Eternal's thunder, and Almighty wrath 
Fearless provokM, which all the other devils 
Would dread to meet; rememb'ring well the day 
When driv'n from pure immortal seats above, 
A fiery tempestliurl'd them down the skies, 
And hung upon the rear, urging their fall 
To the dark, deep, unfathomable gulph, 
Where bound on sulph'rous lakes to glowing rocks 
With adamantine chains, they wail their woes, 
And know Jehovah great as well as good ; 
And fix'd for ever by eternal fate, 
With horror find His arm omnipotent. 

Prodigious madness ! that the sacred muse, 
First taught in heaven to mount immortal heights 
And trace the boundless glories of the sky, 
Should now to every idol basely bow, 
And curse the deity she once ador'd, 
Erecting trophies to each sordid vice, 
And celebrating the infernal praise 
Of haughty Lucifer, the desperate foe 
Of God and Man, and winning every hour 
"New votaries to hell, while all the fiends 



xliv 

Hear these accursed lays, and thus outdone. 
Raging they try to match the human race, 
Redoubling all their hellish blasphemies, 
And with loud curses rend the gloomy vault. 

Ungrateful mortals ! ah ! too late you'll find 
What 'tis to banter heaven and laugh at hell ; 
To dress up vice in false delusive charms, 
And with gay colours paint her hideous face, 
Leading besotted souls thro' flow'ry paths, 
In gaudy dreams, and vain fantastic joys 
To dismal scenes of everlasting woe ; 
When the great judge shall rear his awful throne, 
And raging flames surround the trembling globe. 
While the loud thunders roll from pole to pole, 
And the last trump awakes the sleeping dead ; 
And guilty souls to ghastly bodies driven, 
Within those dire eternal prisons shut, 
Expect their sad inexorable doom. 
Say now ye men of wit ! what turn of thought 
Will please you then ? Alas how dull and poor, 
Ev'n to yourselves, will your lewd flights appear I 
How will you envy then the happy fate 
Of ideots ! and perhaps in vain you'll wish, 
You'd been as very fools as once you thought 
Others, for the sublimest wisdom scorn 'd; 
When pointed lightnings from the wrathful judge 
Shall singe your laurels, and the men 
Who thought they flew so high, shall fall so low. 

No more, my muse, of that tremendous thought. 
Resume thy more delightful theme, and sing 
Th' immortal man, that with immortal verse 
Rivals the hymns of angels, and like them 
Despises mortal critics' idle rules : 



xlv 

While the celestial flame that warms thy soul 

Inspires us, and with holy transports moves 

Our labouring minds, and nobler scenes presents 

Than all the pagan poets ever sung, 

Homer, or Virgil ; and far sweeter notes 

Than Horace ever taught his sounding lyre, 

And purer far, tho' Martial's self might seem 

A modest poet in our Christian days. 

May those forgotten and neglected lie ; 

No more let men be fond of fab'lous gods, 

Nor heathen wit debauch one Christian line, 

While with the coarse and daubing paint we hide 

The shining beauties of eternal truth, 

That in her native dress appears most bright, 

And charms the eyes of angels. . . Oh ! like thee, 

Let every nobler genius tune his voice 

To subjects worthy of their tow'ring thoughts. 

Let Heaven and Anna then your tuneful art 

Improve, and consecrate your deathless lays 

To Him who reigns above, and Her who rules below. 

April 17, 1706. JOSEPH STANDEN 



TO DR. WATTS ON HIS 

DIVINE POEMS. 

^AY, human seraph, whence that charming force 
That flame ! that soul ! which animates each line j 
And how it runs with such a graceful ease, 
Loaded with pond'rous sense ! Say, did not He, 
The lovely Jesus, who commands thy breast, 



xlvi 

Inspire thee with himself? With Jesus dwells, 
Knit in mysterious bands, the Paraclete, 
The breath of GOD, the everlasting source 
Of love ; and what is love in souls like thine, 
But air, and incense to the Poet's fire » 
Should an expiring saint, whose swimming eyes 
Mingle the images of things about him, 
But hear the least exalted of thy strains, 
How greedily he'd drink the music in, 
Thinking his heav'nly convoy waited near ! 
So great a stress of powerful harmony, 
Nature unable longer to sustain, 
Would sink oppress'd with joy to endless rest. 

Let none henceforth of Providence complain, 
As if the world of spirits lay unknown, 
Fenc'd round with black impenetrable night j 
What tho' no shining angel darts from thence 
With leave to publish things conceaPd from sense, 
In language bright as theirs, we are here told, 
When life its narrow round of years hath roll'd, 
What 'tis employs the bless'd, what makes their bliss ; 
Songs such as WATTS's are, and love like his. 
But then, dear Sir, be cautious how you use, 
To transports so intensely rais'd your muse, 
Lest, while th' ecstatic impulse you obey, 
The soul leap out, and drop the duller clay. 

Sept. 4,1706. HENRY GROVE. 



CONTENTS. 



BOOK L 

Page 

Worshipping with Fear 1 

Asking Leave to sing 3 

God's Dominion and Decrees ib. 

Divine Judgments 5 

Earth and Heaven 8 

Felicity above '. 9 

Self Consecration 10 

The Creator and Creatures 11 

The Nativity of Christ 13 

God glorious and Sinners saved 14 

The Penitent pardoned 15 

The humble Enquiry, a French Sonnet imitated 17 

A Hymn of Praise for three great Salvations 18 

The Incomprehensible 21 

Death and Eternity .. . . . 22 

A Sight of Heaven in Sickness 23 

The universal Hallelujah, Psal. cxlviii 24 

The Atheist's Mistake 25 

The Law given at Sinai 2S 

Remember your Creator 34 

Sun, Moon, and Stars, praise ye the Lord 35 

The welcome Messenger 37 

Sincere Praise 38- 

True Learning 49 

True Wisdom 42 

Song to Creating Wisdom 44 

God's absolute Dominion , 47 

Condescending Grace 49 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Infinite 50 

Confession and Pardon 51 

Young Men and Maidens, &c. praise ye the Lord 54 

Flying Fowl, Sec. praise ye the Lord 55 

The Comparison and Complaint 56 

God supreme and self-sumcient 58 

Jesus the only Saviour 59 

Looking upward 61 

Christ dying, rising , and reigning 62 

The God of Thunder 63 

The Day of Judgment, in English Sapphic 64 

The Song of Angels above 65 

Fire, Air, Earth, and Sea, praise ye the Lord . 68 

The Farewell 7o 

God only known to himself 71 

Pardon and Sanctincation 72 

Sovereignty and Grace 73 

The Law and Gospel 74 

Seeking a Divine Calm, &c. Casimir, B. I V. Od. 28 75 

Happy Frailty 76 

Launching into Eternity 78 

A Prospect of the Resurrection 79 

Ad Dominum Nostrum Jesum Christum : Oda 81 

Sui Ipsius Increpatio : Epigramma 84 

Excitatio Cordis Cerium versus ib. 

Breathing towards Heaven, Casimir, B. I. Od. 19 85 

In Sanctum Ardalionem, &c. Casim. Epigr. 100 86 

On the Protestant Church at Montpelier demolished, Two Latin 

Epigrams englished « 88 

Two happy Rivals, Devotion and the Muse 8y 



CONTENTS. 

ON DIVINE LOVE. 

. Page 

The hazard of Loving the Creatures 92 

Desiring to Love Christ 93 

The Heart given away 95 

Meditation in a Grove 96 

The Fairest and Only Beloved 97 

Mutual Love stronger than Death 99 

A Sight of Christ 100 

Love on a Cross and on a Throne 103 

A preparatory Thought for the Lord's Supper 104 

Converse with Christ 105 

Grace shining, and Nature fainting 107 

Love to Christ present or absent 109 

The Absence of Christ 110 

Desiring his Descent to Earth ill 

Ascending to him in Heaven 112 

The Presence of God worth dying for j or, the Death of Moses. . Il3 

Longing for his Return 1.15 

Hope in Darkness ib" 

Come Lord Jesus 118 

Bewailing my own Inconstancy 120 

Forsaken, yet hoping 121 

The Conclusion , 123 



BOOK IL 

To her Majesty 125 

Palinodia 129 

To John Locke, Esq. retired from Business ib 

To John Shute, Esq. on Mr. Locke's Death 130 

To Mr. William Nokes : Friendship 131 

To Nathaniel Gould, Esq 132 

To Dr. Thomas Gibson : the Life of Souls 133 

d 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

To Milo : False Greatness . . 135 

To Sarissa : an Epistle 139 

To Mr. Thomas Bradbury : Paradise 136 

Strict Religion very rare 14? 

To Mr. C. and S. Fleetwood 144 

To Mr. William Blackbourn : Casim. B. II. Od. 2 146 

True Monarchy 147 

True Courage 149 

To the Rev. Mr. T. Rowe : Free Philosophy 151 

To the Rev. Mr. Benoni Rowe : the Way of the Multitude .... 152 

To the Rev. Mr. John Howe 154 

The Disappointment and Relief 155 

The Hero's School of Morality 157 

Freedom 159 

True Riches 160 

On Mr. Locke's Annotations, &c 163 

The Adventurous Muse 164 

To Mr. N. Clark : the Complaint 167 

The Afflictions of a Friend 169 

The Reverse : or, the Comforts of a Friend 170 

To the Right Hon. John Lord Cutts : the Hardy Soldier. 171 

On burning several Poems of Ovid, &c 173 

To Mrs. B. Bendysh : Against Tears 174 

Few Happy Matches 175 

To David Polhill, Esq. an Epistle 177 

The celebrated Victory of the Poles, &c. Casimir. B. IV. Ode 4. 179 

To Mr. Henry Bendysh 186 

The Indian Philosopher 187 

The Happy Man 189 

To David Polhill, Esq. an Answer to an infamous Satire against 

King William 192 

To the Discontented and Unquiet, Casim. B. IV. Ode 15 197 

To John Hartopp, Esq. Casim. B. I. Ode 4 199 

To Thos. Gunston, Esq. Happy Solitude, Casim. B. IV. Ode 12. 201 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

To John Hartopp, Esq. the Disdain 203 

To Mitio, my Friend : the Mourning-Piece . * 205 

The Second Part ; or, the Bright Vision 209 

The Third Part ; or, the Account Ballanced 217 

On the Death of the Duke of Gloucester, &c. an Epigram 219 

An Epigram of Martial to Cirinus, inscribed to Mr, Josiah Hort ib 

Epistola Fratri suo dilecto R. W 220 

Fratri olim Navigaturo 223 

Ad Reverendum Virum Dominum Johannem Pinhorne : Car- 
men Pindaricum 224 

Ad Johannem Hartoppum, Baronettum : Votum, seu Vita in 

Terris Beata 227 

To Miss Singer, on the Sight of some of her Divine Poems un- 
priced 229 



BOOK III. 

An Epitaph on King William 231 

Epitaphium Domini Nathanielis Matheri 233 

An Elegiac Song on Mrs. Peacock 235 

An Elegiac Thought on Mrs. Anne Warner 237 

On the Death of Mrs. M. W 241 

A Funeral Poem on Thomas Gunston, Esq 244 

An Elegy on the Reverend Mr. Gouge »... 260 



UORJE LYRICS. 



BOOK I. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION AND PIETY. 



WORSHIPPING WITH FEAR. 

WHO dares attempt th' Eternal Name, 
With notes of mortal sound ? 
Dangers and glories guard the theme, 
And spread despair around. 

Destruction waits t' obey his frown, 

And heaven attends his smile ; 
A wreath of lightning arms his crown, 

But love adorns it still. 

Celestial King, our spirits lie, 

Trembling beneath thy feet, 
And wish, and cast a longing eye, 

To reach thy lofty seat. 

B 



LYRIC POExMS, boc 

When shall we see the Great Unknown, 

And in thy presence stand ? 
Reveal the splendours of thy throne, 

But shield us with thy hand. 

In thee what endless wonders meet ! 

What various glory shines ! 
The crossing rays too fiercely beat 

Upon our fainting minds. 

Angels are lost in sweet surprise, 

If thou unveil thy grace ; 
And humble awe runs thro' the skies, 

When wrath arrays thy face. 

When mercy joins with majesty 
To spread their beams abroad, 

Not ail their fairest minds on high 
Are shadows of a God. 

Thy works the strongest seraph sings 

In a too feeble strain, 
And labours hard on all his strings 

To reach thy thoughts in vain. 

Created powers, how weak they be t 

How short our praises fall ! 
So much akin to nothing we, 

And thou th' Eternal All. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 

ASKING LEAVE TO SING. 

1 et, mighty God, indulge my tongue, 

Nor let thy thunders roar, 
Whilst the young notes and vent'rous song 
To worlds of glory soar. 

If thou my daring flight forbid 

The muse folds up her wings ; 
Or at thy word her slender reed 

Attempts Almighty things. 

Her slender reed inspir'd by thee 

Bids a new Eden grow, 
With blooming life on every tree, 

And spreads a heav'n below. 

She mocks the trumpet's loud alarms 
Fill'd with thy dreadful breath 3 

And calls th' angelic hosts to arms, 
To give the nations death. 

But when she tastes her Saviour's love 

And feels the rapture strong, 
Scarce the divinest harp above 

Aims at a sweeter song. 



god's dominion and decrees. 

Keep silence, all created things, 

And wait your Maker's nod : 
The muse stands trembling while she sings 

The honours of her God. 
B 2 



4 LYRIC POEMS. bc 

Life, death, and hell, and worlds unknown 

Hang on his firm decree : 
He sits on no precarious throne, 

Nor borrows leave to be. 

Th' Almighty voice bid ancient night 

Her endless realm resign, 
And lo, ten thousand globes of light 

In fields of azure shine. 

Now wisdom with superior sway 

Guides the vast moving frame, 
Whilst all the ranks of being pay 

Deep rev'rence to his name. 

He spake ; the sun obedient stood, 

And held the falling day : 
Old Jordan backward drives his flood, 

And disappoints the sea. 

Lord of the armies of the sky, 

He marshals all the stars ; 
Red comets lift their banners high, 

And wide proclaim his wars. 

Chain d to his throne a volume lies, 

With all the fates of men, 
With every angel's form and size 

Drawn by th 1 Eternal Pen. 

His Providence unfolds the book, 

And makes his counsels shine: 
Each opening leaf, and every stroke, 

Fulfils some deep design. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 

Here he exalts neglected worms 

To sceptres and a crown ; 
Anon the following page he turns, 

And treads the monarch down. 

Not Gabriel asks the reason why, 
Nor God the reason gives 5 

Nor dares the favourite angel pry 
Between the folded leaves. 

My God, I never long'd to see 
My fate with curious eyes, 

W hat gloomy lines are writ for me, 
Or what bright scenes shall rise. 

In thy fair book of life and grace 

May I but find my name, 
Recorded in some humble place 

Beneath my Lord the Lamb. 



DIVINE JUDGMENTS, 



Not from the dust my sorrows spring 
Nor drop my comforts from the lower skies ; 

Let all the baneful planets shed 

Their mingled curses on my head, 
How vain their curses, if trf Eternal King 
Look thro 1 the clouds, and bless me with his eyes. 

Creatures with all their boasted sway 

Are but his slaves, and must obey ; 

They wait their orders from above, 
And execute his word, the vengeance, or the love. 



6 LYRIC POEMS. book i. 

Tis by a warrant from his hand 
The gentler gales are bound to sleep : 
The north wind blusters and assumes command 
Over the desert and the deep - y 
Old Boreas with his freezing pow'rs 
Turns the earth iron, makes the ocean glass, 
Arrests the dancing riv'lets as they pass, 

And chains them moveless to their shores ; 
The grazing ox lows to the gelid skies, 
Walks o'er the marble meads with withering eyes, 
Walks o'er the solid lakes, snuffs up the wind, 
and dies. 

Fly to the polar world, my song, 
And mourn the pilgrims there, (a wretched throng!) 

Seizd and bound in rigid chains, 
A troop of statues on the Russian plains, 
And life stands frozen in the purple veins. 

Atheist, forbear; no more blaspheme: 
God has a thousand terrors in his name, 

A thousand armies at command, 

Waiting the signal of his hand, 
And magazines of frost, and magazines of flame. 

Dress thee in steel to meet his wrath; 

His sharp artillery from the north 
Shall pierce thee to the soul, and shake thy 
mortal frame. 

Sublime on winter's rugged wings 

He rides in arms along the sky, 
And scatters fate on swains and kings ; 

And flocks and herds, and nations die ; 

While impious lips, profanely bold, 
Grow pale ; and, quivering at his dreadful cold, 

Give their own blasphemies the lie. 






SACRED TO DEVOTION. 7 

The mischiefs that infest the earth, 
When the hot dog-star fires the realms on high, 

Drought and' disease, and cruel dearth, 
Are but the flashes of a wrathful eye 

From the incens'd Divinity. 

In vain our parching palates thirst, 
For vital food in vain we cry, 
And pant for vital breath ; 

The verdant fields are burnt to dust. 

The sun has drunk the channels dry, 
And all the air is death : 

Ye scourges of our Maker's rod, 
Tis at his dread command, at his imperial nod 

You deal your various plagues abroad. 

Hail, whirlwinds, hurricanes and floods 

That all the leafy standards strip, 

And bear down with a mighty sweep 
The riches of the fields, and honours of the woods; 

Storms, that ravage o'er the deep, 
And bury millions in the waves ; 

Earthquakes, that in midnight sleep 
Turn cities into heaps, and make our beds our 
graves ; 

While you dispense your mortal harms, 
'Tis the Creator's voice that sounds your loud alarms, 
When guilt with louder cries provokes a God to 
arms. 

O for a message from above 

To bear my spirits up ! 
Some pledge of my Creator's love 
To calm my terrors and support my hope I 
Let waves and thunders mix and roar, 



8 LYRIC POEMS. 



OK I. 



Be thou my God, and the whole world is mine : 
While thou art Sov'reign, I'm secure ; 
I shall be rich till thou art poor ; 

For all I fear, and all I wish, heav'n, earth, and 
hell, are thine. 



EARTH AND HEAVEN. 



Hast thou not seen, impatient boy, 
Hast thou not read the solemn truth, 
That grey experience writes for giddy youth 

On every mortal joy ; 
** Pleasure must be dash'd with pain ?" 

And yet with heedless haste, 

The thirsty boy repeats the taste, 
Nor hearkens to despair, but tries the bowl again. 
The rills of pleasure never run sincere; 

(Earth has no unpolluted spring) 
From the curs' d soil some dangrous taint they 

bear ; 
So roses grow on thorns, and honey wears a sting. 

In vain we seek a heaven below the sky ; 

The world has false, but flatfring charms : 
Its distant joys show big in our esteem, 
But lessen still as they draw near the eye ; 
In our embrace the visions die, 

And when we grasp the airy forms 
We lose the pleasing dream. 

JEarth, with her scenes of gay delight, 
Is but # landscape rudely drawn, 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 9 

With glaring colours, and false light ; 

Distance commends it to the sight, 
For fools to gaze upon ; 
But bring the nauseous daubing nigh, 
Coarse and cbnfus'd the hideous figures lie, 
Dissolve the pleasure, and offend the eye. 

Look up, my soul, pant tow'rd th* eternal hills j 
Those heav'ns are fairer than they seem ; 

There pleasures all sincere glide on in crystal rills, 
There not a dreg of guilt defiles, 
Nor grief disturbs the stream. 

That Canaan knows no noxious thing, 

No cursed soil, no tainted spring, 

Nor roses grow on thorns, nor honey wears a sting. 



FELICITY ABOVE. 



xs o, 'tis in vain to seek for bliss ; 

For bliss can ne'er be found 
'Till we arrive where Jesus is, 

And tread on heav'nly ground. 

There's nothing round these painted skies, 

Or round this dusty clcd ; 
Nothing, my soul, that's worth thy joys, 

Or lovely as thy God. 

'Tis heav'n on earth to taste his love, 

To feel his quick'ning grace ; 
And all the heav'n I hope above 

Is but to see his face. 



10 LYRIC POEMS. b 

Why move my years in slow delay > 

O God of ages ! why ? 
Let the spheres cleave, and mark my way 

To the superior sky. 

Dear Sovreign, break these vital strings 

That bind me to my clay ; 
Take me, Uriel, on thy wings, 

And stretch and soar away. 



SELF CONSECRATION. 



It grieves me, Lord, it grieves me sore, 
That I have livd to thee no more, 
And wasted half my days ; 

My inward pow'rs shall burn and flame 
With zeal and passion for thy name, 
I would not speak, but for my God, nor move, 
but to his praise. 

What are my eyes, but aids to see 
The glories of the Deity 

Inscribed with beams of light, 
On flowTs and stars ? Lord, I behold 
The shining azure, green and gold ; 
But when 1 try to read thy name, a dimness veils 
my sight. 

Mine ears are rais'd when Virgil sings 
Sicilian swains, or Trojan kings, 
And drink the music in : 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. It 

Why should the trumpet's brazen voice, 
Or oaten reed awake my joys, 
And yet my heart so stupid lie when sacred 
hymns begin ? 

Change me, O God ; my flesh shall be 
An instrument of song to thee, 
And thou the notes inspire : 
My tongue shall keep the heav'nly chime, 
My chearful pulse shall beat the time, 
And sweet variety of sound shall in thy praise 
conspire. 

The dearest nerve about my heart, 
Should it refuse to bear a part 
With my melodious breath, 
I'd tear away the vital chord, 
A bloody victim to my Lord, 
And live without that impious string, or shew my 
zeal in death. 



THE CREATOR AND CREATURES. 

O od is a name my soul adores, 
Th' Almighty Three, th' Eternal One; 
Nature and grace, with all their pow'rs, 
Confess the infinite unknown. 

From thy great self thy being springs ; 
Thou art thine own original, 
Made up of uncreated things, 
And self-sufficience bears them all. 



n LYRIC POEMS, book 

Thy voice produc'd the seas and spheres, 
Bid the waves roar, and planets shine ; 
But nothing like thy self appears, 
Thro 1 all these spacious works of thine. 

Still restless nature dies and grows ; 
From change to change the creatures run : 
Thy being no succession knows, 
And all thy vast designs are one. 

A glance of thine runs thro' the globes, 
Rules the bright worlds, and moves their frame : 
Broad sheets of light compose thy robes ; 
Thy guards are form'dof living flame. 

Thrones and dominions round thee fall, 
And worship in submissive forms; 
Thy presence shakes this lower ball, 
This little dwelling-place of worms. 

How shall affrighted mortals dare 
To sing thy glory or thy grace, 
Beneath thy feet we lie so far, 
And see but shadows of thy face ? 

Who can behold the blazing light? 
Who can approach consuming flame ? 
None but thy wisdom knows thy might : 
None but thy word can speak thy name. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION, 13 



THE NATIVITY OF CHRIST. 

Shepherds, rejoice, lift up your eyes, 
" And send your fears away ; 
" News from the regions of the skies, 
" Salvation's born to-day. 

" Jesus, the God whom angels fear, 
" Comes down to dwell with you ; 

* To-day he makes his entrance here, 
" But not as monarchs do. 

" No gold, nor purple swadling bands, 

" Nor royal shining things ; 
** A manger for his cradle stands, 

" And holds the King of kings. 

" Go, shepherds, where the infant lies, 
" And see his humble throne ; 

u With tears of joy in all your eyes, 
" Go, shepherds, kiss the Son/* 

Thus Gabriel sang, and straight around 

The heavenly armies throng, 
They tune their harps to lofty sound, 

And thus conclude the song: 

" Glory to God that reigns above, 
" Let peace surround the earth ; 

u Mortals shall know their Maker's love, 
u At their Redeemer's birth." 



14 LYRIC POEMS, 

Lord ! and shall angels have their songs, 

And men no tunes to raise ? 
O may we lose these useless tongues 

When they forget to praise ! 

Glory to God that reigns above, 

That pitied us forlorn, 
We join to sing our Maker's love, 

For there's a Saviour born. 






GOD GLORIOUS, AND SINNERS SAVED. 

r ather, how wide thy glory shines! 

How high thy wonders rise ! 
Known thro' the earth by thousand signs, 

By thousand thro' the skies. 

Those mighty orbs proclaim thy power, 
Their motions speak thy skill ; 

And on the wings of ev'ry hour, 
We read thy patience still. 

Part of thy name divinely stands 

On all thy creatures writ, 
They shew the labour of thine hands, 

Or impress of thy feet. 

But when we view thy strange design 

To save rebellious worms, 
Where vengeance and compassion join 

In their divinest forms ; 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 15 

Our thoughts are lost in reverend awe : 

We love and we adore ; 
The first arch- angel never saw 

So much of God before. 

Here the whole Deity is known, 

Nor dares a creature guess 
Which of the glories brightest shone, 

The justice or the grace. 

When sinners broke the Father's laws, 

The dying Son atones ; 
Oh the dear mysteries of his cross ! 

The triumph of his groans ! 

Now the full glories of the Lamb 

Adorn the heav'nly plains ; 
Sweet cherubs learn Immanuel's name, 

And try their choicest strains. 

O may I bear some humble part 

In that immortal song ! 
Wonder and joy shall tune my heart, 

And love command my tongue. 



THE PENITENT PARDONED. 

Hence from my soul, my sins, depart, 
Your fatal friendship now I see; 

Long have you dwelt too near my heart, 
Hence, to eternal distance flee. 



16 LYRIC POEMS, bc 

Ye gave my dj r ing Lord his wound, 
Yet I caress'd your viperous brood, 

And in my heart-strings lapp'd you round, 
You, the vile murderers of my God. 

Black heavy thoughts, like mountains, roll 
O'er my poor breast, with boding fears, 

And crushing hard my tortur'd soul, 
Wring thro' my eyes the briny tears. 

Forgive my treasons, Prince of Grace, 
The bloody Jews were traitors too, 

Yet thou hast pray'd for that cuiVd race, 
** Father, they know not what they do." 

Great Advocate ! look down and see 
A wretch, whose smarting sorrows bleed ; 

plead the same excuse for me I 
For, Lord, I knew not what I did. 

Peace, my complaints ; let every groan 
Be still, and silence wait his love; 

Compassions dwell amidst his throne, 
And thro' his inmost bowels move. 

Lo, from the everlasting skies, 

Gently, as morning-dews distil, 
The Dove immortal downward flies, 

With peaceful olive in his bill. 

How sweet the voice of pardon sounds I 
Sweet the relief to deep distress ! 

1 feel the balm that heals my wounds, 
And all my powers adore the grace. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 17 

THE HUMBLE ENQUIRY : 

A FRENCH SONNET IMITATED, 1692. 

Grand Dieu, tes Jugemens, <£c 

Grace rules below, and sits enthron'd above, 
How few the sparks of wrath ! how slow they move, 
And drop and die in boundless seas of love ! 

But me, vile wretch ! should pitying love em- 
brace 
Deep in its ocean, hell itself would blaze, 
And flash, and burn me thro' the boundless seas. 

Yea, Lord, my guilt to such a vastness grown 
Seems to confine thy choice to wrath alone, 
And calls thy power to vindicate thy throne. 

Thine honour bids, avenge thine injurd name, 
Thy slighted loves a dreadful glory claim, 
While my moist tears might but incense thy 
flame. 

Should heavn grow black, almighty thunder 

roar, 
And vengeance blast me, I could plead no more, 
But own thy justice dying, and adore. 

Yet can those bolts of death that cleave the 

flood 
To reach a rebel, pierce this sacred shroud, 
Ting'd in the vital stream of my Redeemer's 

blood. 

c 



18 LYRIC POEMS 



A HYMN OF PRAISE FOR THREE GREAT 
SALVATIONS, VIZ, 

1. From the Spanish Invasion, 1588. 

2. From the Gunpowder Plot, Nov. 5. 

3. From Popery and Slavery by King William, of 

glorious Memory, who landed Nov. 5. 1688. 

Composed, Nov. 5, 1695. 

Infinite God, thy counsels stand 

Like mountains of eternal brass, 
Pillars to prop our sinking land, 

Or guardian rocks to break the seas. 

From pole to pole thy name is known, 
Thee a whole heaven of angels praise, 

Our labouring tongues would reach thy throne 
With the loud triumphs of thy grace. 

Part of thy church, by thy command, 
Stands rais'd upon the British isles ; 

" There," said the Lord, " to ages stand, 
" Firm as the everlasting hills." 

In vain the Spanish ocean roar'd ; 

Its billows swell' d against our shore, 
Its billows sunk beneath thy word, 

With all the floating war they bore. 

" Come," said the sons of bloody Rome, 
" Let us provide new arms from hell:" 

And down they digg'd thro' earth's dark womb, 
And ransack'd all the burning cell 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 19 

Old Satan lent them fiery stores, 
Infernal coal, and sulph'rous flame, 

And all that burns, and all that roars, 
Outrageous fires of dreadful name. 

Beneath the senate and the throne, 

Engines of hellish thunder lay ; 
There the dark seeds i of fire were sown, 

To spring a bright, but dismal day. 

Thy love beheld the black design, 

Thy love that guards our island round ; 

Strange 1 how it quench' d the fiery mine, 
And crushed the tempest under ground. 



THE SECOND PART. 

Assume, my tongue, a nobler strain, 
Sing the new wonders of the Lord ; 

The foes revive their pow'rs again, 
Again they die beneath his sword. 

Dark as our thoughts our minutes roll, 
While tyranny possess 1 d the throne, 

And murderers of an Irish soul 

Ran, threat 1 ning death, thro' every town* 

The Roman priest, and British prince, 

Joind their best force, and blackest charms, 

And the fierce troops of neighbouring France 
Offer'd the service of their arms, 
c 2 



20 LYRIC POEMS, bo 

Tis clone, they cry'd, and laugh'd aloud, 
The courts of darkness rang with joy, 

TrT old serpent hiss'd, and hell grew proud, 
While Zion mourn d her ruin nigh. 

But, lo, the great Deliverer sails 

Commission d from Jehovah's hand, 

And smiling seas, and wishing gales, 
Convey him to the longing land. 

The happy day, and happy year,* 
Both in our new salvation meet: 

The day that quench'd the burning snare, 
The year that burnt the invading fleet. f 

Now did thine arm, O God of Hosts, 

Now did thine arm shine dazzling bright, 

The sons of might their hands had lost, 
And men of blood forgot to fight. 

Brigades of angels lin'd the way, 

And guarded William to his throne ; 

There, ye celestial warriors, stay, 
And make his palace like your own. 

Then, mighty God, the earth shall know 
And learn the worship of the sky: 

Angels and Britons join below, 
To raise their hallelujahs high. 



b Nov. 5, 1688. t Nov, 5, 1588. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION, 21 

All hallelujah, heavenly King; 

While distant lands thy victory sing, 
And. tongues their utmost powers employ, 

The world's bright roof repeats the joy. 



THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE. 

Far in the heav'ns my God retires, 
My God, the mark of my desires, 
And hides his lovely face ; 

When he descends within my view, 

He charms my reason to pursue, 
But leaves it tird and fainting in th' unequal chase. 

Or if I reach unusual height 

'Till near his presence brought, 
There floods of glory check my flight, 
Cramp the bold pinions of my wit, 

And all untune my thought ; 
Plung'd in a sea of light I roll, 
Where wisdom, justice, mercy, shines; 
Infinite rays in crossing lines 
Beat thick confusion on my sight, and overwhelm 
my soul. 

Come to my aid, ye fellow-minds, 

And help me reach the throne ; 
(What single strength in vain designs, 

United force hath done ; 
Thus worms may join, and grasp the poles, 

Thus atoms fill the sea) 



n LYRIC POEMS. book i. 

But the whole race of creature-souls 
Stretch'd to their last extent of thought, plunge 
and are lost in thee. 

Great God, behold my reason lies 
Adoring ; yet my love would rise 

On pinions not her own : 
Faith shall direct her humble flight, 
Thro' all the trackless seas of light, 
To thee, trf eternal fair, the infinite unknown. 



DEATH AND ETERNITY. 



My thoughts, that often mount the skies, 

Go, search the world beneath, 
Where nature all in ruin lies, 

And owns her sovereign, death. 

The tyrant, how he triumphs here ! 

His trophies spread around ! 
And heaps of dust and bones appear 

Thro' all the hollow ground. 

These skulls, what ghastly figures now ! 

How loathsome to the eyes ! 
These are the heads we lately knew 

So beauteous and so wise. 

But where the souls, those deathless things, 

That left this dying clay ? 
My thoughts, now stretch out all your wings 

And trace eternity. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 23 

O that unfathomable sea ! 

Those deeps without a shore ; 
Where living waters gently play, 

Or fiery billows roar. 

Thus must we leave the banks of life, 

And try this doubtful sea; 
Vain are our groans, and dying strife, 

To gain a moment's sta} r . 

There we shall swim in heavnly bliss, 

Or sink in flaming waves, 
While the pale carcass thoughtless lies, 

Amongst the silent graves. 

Some hearty friend shall drop his tear 

On our dry bones, and say, 
" These once were strong, as mine appear, 

" And mine must be as they." 

Thus shall our mouldering members teach 

What now our senses learn : 
For dust and ashes loudest preach 

Man's infinite concern. 



A SIGHT OF HEAVEN IN SICKNESS. 

Oft have I sat in secret sighs, 

To feel my flesh decay, 
Then groan'd aloud with frighted eyes, 

To view the tott'ring clay. 



14 LYRIC POEMS, 

But I forbid my sorrows now, 
Nor dares the flesh complain; 

Diseases bring their profit too ; 
The joy o'ercomes the pain. 

My chearful soul now all the day 
Sits waiting here and sings ; 

Looks thro' the ruins of her clay, 
And practises her wings. 

Faith almost changes into sight, 
While from afar she spies, 

Her fair inheritance, in light 
Above created skies, 

Had but the prison walls been strong, 

And firm without a flaw, 
In darkness she had dwelt too long, 

And less of glory saw. 

But now the everlasting hills, 

Thro 1 every chink appear, 
And something of the joy she feels 

While she's a pris'ner here. 

The shines of heaven rush sweetly in 

At all the gaping flaws ; 
Visions of endless bliss are seen ; 

And native air she draws. 

O may these walls stand tott'ring still, 

The breaches never close, 
If I must here in darkness dwell, 

And all this glory lose ! 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 

Or rather let this flesh decay, 

The ruins wider grow, 
Till glad to see th' enlarged way, 

I stretch my pinions through. 



THE UNIVERSAL HALLELUJAH. 

Psalm cxlviii. Paraphrased. 

Praise ye the Lord with joyful tongue, 
Ye pow'rs that guard his throne ; 

Jesus the man shall lead the song, 
The God inspire the tune. 

Gabriel, and all th' immortal choir 

That fill the realms above, 
Sing ; for he form'd you of his fire, 

And feeds you with his love. 

Shine to his praise, ye crystal skies, 

The floor of his abode, 
Or veil your little twinkling eyes 

Before a brighter God. 

Thou restless globe of golden light, 
Whose beams create our days, 

Join with the silver queen of night, 
To own your borrow 1 d rays* 

Blush and refund the honours paid 

To your inferior names : 
Tell the blind world your orbs are fed 

By his o'erflowing flames. 



26 XTRIC POEMS. 

Winds, ye shall bear his name aloud 

Thro' the ethereal blue, 
For when his chariot is a cloud, 

He makes his wheels of you. 

Thunder and hail, and fires and storms, 

The troops of his command, 
Appear in all your dreadful forms, 

And speak his awful hand. 

Shout to the Lord, ye surging seas, 

In your eternal roar ; 
Let wave to wave resound his praise, 

And shore reply to shore : 

While monsters sporting on the flood, 

In scal} r silver shine, 
Speak terribly their Maker- God, 

And lash the foaming brine. - 

But gentler things shall tune his name 

To softer notes than these, 
Young zephyrs breathing o'er the stream, 

Or whispering thro 1 the trees. 

Wave your tall heads, ye lofty pines, 

To him that bid you grow, 
Sweet clusters, bend the fruitful vines 

On every thankful bough. 

Let the shrill birds his honour raise, 

And climb the morning sky : 
While groveling beasts attempt his praise 

In hoarser harmony. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 27 

Thus while the meaner creatures sing, 

Ye mortals, take the sound, 
Echo the glories of your king 

Thro' all the nations round. 

Th' eternal name must fly abroad 

From Britain to Japan ; 
And the whole race shall bow to God, 

That owns the name of man. 



THE ATHEIST'S MISTAKE. 

Laugh, ye prophane, and swell and burst 

With bold impiety : 
Yet shall ye live for ever curs'd, 

And seek in vain to die. 

The gasp of your expiring breath 
Consigns your souls to chains, 

By the last agonies of death 
Sent down to fiercer pains. 

Ye stand upon a dreadful steep, 

And all beneath is hell ; 
Your weighty guilt will sink you deep, 

Where the old serpent fell. 

When iron slumbers bind your flesh, 
With strange surprise you'll find 

Immortal vigour spring afresh, 
And tortures wake the mind ! 



28 LYRIC POEMS, 

Then you'll confess the frightful names 
Of plagues you scorn' d before, 

No more shall look like idle dreams, 
Like foolish tales no more. 

Then shall ye curse that fatal day, 
(With flames upon your tongues) 

When you exchanged your souls away 
For vanity and songs. 

Behold the saints rejoice to die, 

For heav'n shines round their heads ; 

And angel-guards prepared to fly, 
Attend their fainting beds. 

Their longing spirits part, and rise 

To their celestial seat ; 
Above these ruinable skies 

They make their last retreat. 

Hence, ye prophane, I hate your ways, 

I walk with pious souls ; 
There's a wide difference in our race, 

And distant are our goals. 



THE LAW GIVEN AT SINAI, 

Arm thee with thunder, heavenly muse, 
And keep th' expecting world in awe j 
Oft hast thou sung in gentler mood 
The melting mercies of thy God , 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 

Now give thy fiercest fires a loose, 

And sound his dreadful law : 
To Israel first the words were spoke, 
To Israel freed from Egypt's yoke, 
Inhuman bondage I The hard galling load 
Over-press' d their feeble souls, 
Bent their knees to senseless bulls, 
And broke their knees to God. 



Now had they pass'd the Arabian bay, 

And march'd between the cleaving sea \ 

The rising waves stood guardians of their won- 

d'rous way, 
But fell with most impetuous force, 
On the pursuing swarms, 
And bury'd Egypt all in arms, 
Blending in wafry death the rider and his horse : 
O'er struggling Pharaoh roll'd the mighty tide, 
And sav'd the labours of a pyramid. 
Apis and Ore in vain he cries, 
And all his horned Gods beside, 
He swallows fate with swimming eyes, 
And curs' d the Hebrews as. he dy'd. 

Ah ! foolish Israel to comply 
With Memphian idolatry ! 
And bow to brutes, (a stupid slave) 
To idols impotent to save ! 
Behold thy God, the Sovereign of the sky, 
Has wrought salvation in the deep^ 
Has bound thy foes in iron sleep, 
And raisM thine honours hi°rh ; 



30 LYRIC POEMS, book i 

His grace forgives thy follies past, 
Behold he comes in majesty, 
And Sinai's top proclaims his law : 

Prepare to meet thy God in haste ; 

But keep an awful distance still : 

Let Moses round the sacred hill 
The circling limits draw. 

Hark ! The shrill echoes of the trumpet roar, 
And call the trembling armies near ; 
Slow and unwilling they appear, 

Rails kept them from the mount before, 
Now from the rails their fear : 

Twas the same herald, and the trump the same 
Which shall be blown by high command, 
Shall bid the wheels of nature stand, 
And Heav'n's eternal will proclaim, 
That time shall be no more. 

Thus while the labouring angel swell'd the sound, 
And rent the skies, and shook the ground, 
Uprose th' Almighty; round his sapphire seat 

Adoring thrones in order fell ; 

The lesser powers at distance dwell, 
And cast their glories down successive at his feet : 

Gabriel the Great prepares his way, 
Lift up your heads, eternal doors, he cries ; 

Th' eternal doors his word obey, 

Open and shoot celestial day 
Upon the lower skies. 

HeavV s mighty pillars bow'd their head, 
As their creator bid, 
And down Jehovah rode from the superior sphere, 
A thousand guards before, and myriads in the rear. 






SACRED TO DEVOTION. 31 

His chariot was a pitchy cloud, 

The wheels beset with burning gems; 

The winds in harness with the flames 

Flew o'er th' ethereal road : 
Down thro' his magazines he past 

Of hail, and ice, and fleecy snow, 
Swift roll'd the triumph, and as fast 

Did hail, and ice, in melted rivers flow. 

The day was mingled with the night, 
His feet on solid darkness trod, 
His radiant eyes proclaim' d the God, 

And scatter'd dreadful light ; 
He breath' d, and sulphur ran, a fiery stream : 
He spoke, and (tho' with unknown speed he came) 
Chid the slow tempest, and the lagging flame. 

Sinai received his glorious flight, 
With axle red, and glowing wheel 

Did the wing'd chariot light, 
And rising smoke obscur'd the burning hill. 
Lo, it mounts in curling waves, 
Lo, the gloomy pride out-braves 
The stately pyramids of fire ; 
The pyramids to heav'n aspire, 
And mix with stars, but see their gloomy offspring 
higher. 
So have you seen ungrateful ivy grow 
Round the tall oak that six score years has stood, 
And proudly shoot a leaf or two 
Above its kind supporter's utmost bough, 
And glory there to stand the loftiest of the wood. 

Forbear, young muse, forbear ; 
The flow'ry things that poets say, 



$2 LYRIC POEMS, book 

The little arts of simile 
Are vain and useless here ; 
Nor shall the burning hills of old 

With Sinai be compard, 
Nor all that lying Greece has told, 

Or learned Rome has heard ; 
iEtna shall be nam'd no more, 
^Etna the torch of Sicily j 
Not half so high 
Her lightnings fly, 
Not half so loud her thunders roar 
Cross the Sicanian sea, to fright th' Italian shore. 
Behold the sacred hill : its trembling spire 
Quakes at the terrors of the fire, 
While all below its verdant feet 
Stagger and reel under th' Almighty weight : 
Press 1 d with a greater than feign'd Atlas' load 
Deep groan d the mount; it never bore 
Infinity before, 
It bow'd, and shook beneath the burden of a God. 

Fresh horror seize the camp, despair, 

And dying groans, torment the air, 

And shrieks, and swoons, and deaths were there; 

The bellowing thunder, and the lightnings blaze 

Spread thro' the host a wild amaze ; 
Darkness on every soul, paleness on every face : 

Confus'd and dismal were the cries, 

Let Moses speak, or Israel dies : 

Moses the spreading terror feels, 

No more the man of God conceals 

His shivering and surprize : 
Yet, with recovering mind, commands 
Silence, and deep attention, thro 1 the Hebrew bands. 



SACRED- TO DEVOTION S3 

Hark ! from the centre of the flame, 

All arm'd and feather' d with the same, 

Majestic sounds break thro' the smokey cloud: 

Sent from the All-creating tongue, 

A flight of cherubs guard the words along, 

And bear their fiery law to the retreating crowd. 

" I am the Lord: TisI proclaim 
" That glorious and that fearful name, 
" Thy God and King : 'Twas I, that broke 
" Thy bondage, and th' Egyptian yoke y 
** Mine is the right to speak my will, 
" And thine the duty to fulfil 
" Adore no God beside me, to provoke mine eyes; 
" Nor worship me in shapes and forms that men 

devise ; 
" With rev'rence use my name, nor turn my 

words to jest; 
" Observe my sabbath well, nor dare profane my 

rest; 
" Honour, and due obedience to thy parents give ; 
" Nor spill the guiltless blood> nor let the guilty 

live : 
" Preserve thy body chaste, and flee th' unlawful 

bed; 
" Nor steal thy neighbour's gold, his garment, or 

his bread ; 
" Forbear to blast his name with falshood, or 

deceit; 
" Nor let thy wishes loose upon his large estate." 



$4, LYRIC POEMS. book 

REMEMBER YOUR CREATOR, &C. 
Ecclesiastes xii. 

Children, to your Creator, God, 

Your early honours pay, 
While vanity and youthful blood 

Would tempt your thoughts astray. 

The memory of his mighty name, 

Demands your first regard. 
Nor dare indulge a meaner flame. 

'Till you have lov'd the Lord. 

Be wise, and make his favour sure, 

Before the mournful days, 
When youth and mirth are known no more. 

And life and strength decays. 

No more the blessings of a feast 

Shall relish on the tongue, 
The heavy ear forgets to taste 

The pleasure of a song. 

Old age, with all her dismal train, 

Invades your golden years 
With sighs and groans, and raging pain, 

And death, that never spares. 

What will ye do when light departs, 
And leaves your withering eyes, 

Without one beam to chear your hcartf, 
From the superior skies ? 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 

How will you meet God's frowning brow, 

Or stand before bis seat, 
While nature's old supporters bow, 

Nor bear their tott 'ring weight ? 

Can you expect your feeble arms 

Shall make a strong defence, 
When death, with terrible alarms, 

Summons the pris'ner hence? 

The silver bands of nature burst, 

And let the building fall ; 
The flesh goes down to mix with dust, 

Its vile original. 

Laden with guilt, (a heavy load) 

Uncleans'd and unforgiv'n, 
'The soul returns t' an angry God, 

To be shut out from heav'n. 



SUN, MOON, AND STARS, PRAISE YE THE 
LORD. 

Fairest of all the lights above, 

Thou sun, whose beams adorn the spheres, 
And with unweary'd swiftness move, 

To form the circles of our years - y 

Praise the Creator of the skies, 
That dress'd thine orb in golden rays : 

Or may the sun forget to rise, 
If he forget his Maker's praise. 
D 2 



3S LYRIC POEMS, i 

Thou reigning beauty of the night, 
Fair queen of silence, silver moon, 

Whose gentle beams, and borrow'd light, 
Are softer rivals of the noon 3 

Arise, and to that Sov'reign Pow'r 
Waxing and waning honours pay, 

Who bid thee rule the dusky hour, 
And half supply the absent day. 

Ye twinkling stars, who gild the skies 
When darkness has its curtains drawn, 

Who keep your watch, with wakeful eyes, 
When business, cares, and day are gone : 

Proclaim the glories of your Lord, 
Dispers'd thro' all the heavenly street, 

Whose boundless treasures can afford 
So rich a pavement for his feet. 

Thou Heavn of heav'ns, supremely bright, 
Fair palace of the court divine, 

Where, with inimitable light, 

The Godhead condescends to shine. 

Praise thou thy great Inhabitant, 
Who scatters lovely beams of grace 

On every angel, every saint, 
Nor veils the lustre of his face. 

O God of glory, God of love, 

Thou art the Sun that makes our days: 
With all thy shining works above, 

Let earth and dust attempt thy praise. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 57 



THE WELCOME MESSENGER. 

Loud, when we see a saint of thine 

Lie gasping out his breath, 
With longing eyes, and looks divine, 

Smiling and pleas d in death; 

How we could e'en contend to lay 

Our limbs upon that bed I 
We ask thine envoy to convey 

Our spirits in his stead. 



To venture in his place; 
or when grim death has 
He has an angel's face. 



For when grim death has lost his sting, 



Jesus, then purge my crimes away, 

'Tis guilt creates my fears, 
*Tis guilt gives death its fierce array, 

And all the arms it bears. 

Oh ! if my threat'ning sins were gone, 
And death had lost his sting, 

I could invite the angel on, 
And chide his lazy wing. 

Away these interposing days, 

And let the lovers meet ; 
The angel has a cold embrace, 

But kind, and soft and sweet. 



88 LYRIC POEMS, 

Id leap at once my seventy years, 

I'd rush into his arms, 
And lose my breath, and all my cares, 

Amidst those heav'nly charms. 

Joyful Td lay this body down, 
And leave the lifeless clay, 

Without a sigh, without a groan, 
And stretch and soar away. 



SINCERE PRAISE. 



Almighty Maker, God! 

How wond'rous is thy name ! 
Thy glories how diffus'd abroad 

Thro' the creation's frame ! 

Nature in every dress 

Her humble homage pays, 
And finds a thousand ways t' express 

Thine undissembled praise. 

In native white and red 

The rose and lily stand, 
And free from pride, their beauties spread, 

To shew thy skilful hand. 

The lark mounts up the sky, 

With unambitious song, 
And bears her Maker's praise on high 

Upon her artless tongue. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 39 

My soul would rise and sing 

To her Creator too, 
Fain would my tongue adore my King, 

And pay the worship due. 

But pride, that busy sin, 

Spoils all that I perform; 
Curs'd pride, that creeps securely in, 

And swells a haughty worm. 

Thy glories I abate, 

Or praise thee with design ; 
Some of thy favours I forget, 

Or think the merit mine. 

The very songs I frame, 

Are faithless to thy cause, 
And steal the honours of thy name 

To build their own applause. 

Create my soul anew, 

Else all my worship's vain ; 
This wretched heart will ne'er be true, 

Until 'tis form'd again. 

Descend, celestial fire, 

And seize me from above, 
Melt me in flames of pure desire, 

A sacrifice to love. 

Let joy and worship spend 

The remnant of my days, 
And to my God, my soul, ascend, 

In sweet perfumes of praise. 



40 LYRIC POEMS. book i. 

TRUE LEARNING. 

Partly imitated from a French Sonnet of Mr. Poiret. 

Happy the feet that shining Truth has led 
With her own hand to tread the path she please, 
To see her native lustre round her spread, 

Without a veil, without a shade, 
All beauty, and all light, as in herself she is. 

Our senses cheat us with the pressing crowds 
Of painted shapes they thrust upon the mind : 
The truth they shew lies wrappd in sevenfold 
shrouds, 
Our senses cast a thousand clouds 
On unenlighten'd souls, and leave them doubly blind. 

I hate the dust that fierce disputers raise, 
And lose the mind in a wild maze of thought : 
What empty triflings, and what subtil ways, 

To fence and guard by rule and rote ! [not. 
Our God will never charge us, that we knew them 

Touch, heavnly Word, O touch these curious souls; 
Since I have heard but one soft hint from thee, 
From all the vain opinions of the schools 

(That pageantry of knowing fools) 
I feel my powers releasd, and stand divinely free. 

Twas this Almighty Word that all things made, 
Tie grasps whole nature in his single hand; 
All the eternal truths in him are laid, 

The ground of all things, and their head, 
The circle where they move, and centre where they 
stand. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 41 

Without his aid I have no sure defence, 
From troops of errors that besiege me round ; 
But he that rests his reason and his sense 

Fast here, and never wanders hence, 
Immoveable he dwells upon unshaken ground. 

Infinite Truth ! the life of my desires, 
Come from the sky, and join thyself to me; 
Fm tir d with hearing, and this reading tires ; 

But never tir'd of telling thee, 
Tis thy fair face alone my spirit burns to see. 

Speak to my soul, alone, no other hand 
Shall mark my path out with delusive art: 
All nature silent in his presence stand, 
Creatures be dumb at his command, 
And leave his single voice to whisper to my heart. 

Retire, my soul, within thyself retire, 
Away from sense and every outward show : 
Nor let my thoughts to loftier themes aspire, 

My knowledge now on wheels of fire 
May mount and spread above, surveying all below. 

The Lord grows lavish of his heav'nly light, 
And pours whole floods on such a mind as this : 
Fled from the eyes she gains a piercing sight, 

She dives into the infinite, 
And sees unutterable things in that unknown abyss. 



42 LYRIC POEMS, book i. 

TRUE WISDOM. 

Pronounce him blest, my muse, whom wisdom 

guides 
In her own path to her own heavenly seat ; 
Thro' all the storms his soul securely glides, 

Nor can the tempests, nor the tides, 
That rise and roar around, supplant his steady feet. 

Earth, )'ou may let your golden arrows fly, 
And seek, in vain, a passage to his breast, 
Spread all your painted toys to court his eye, 

He smiles, and sees them vainly try 
To lure his soul aside from her eternal rest. 

Our head-strong lusts, like a young fiery horse, 
Start, and flee raging in a violent course ; 
He tames and breaks them, manages and rides 'em, 
Checks their career, and turns and guides 'em, 
And bids bis reason bridle their licentious force. 

Lord of himself, he rules his wildest thoughts, 
And boldly acts what calmly he design' d, 
Whilst he looks down and pities human faults ; 

Nor can he think, nor can he find 
A plague like reigning passions, and a subject mind. 

But oh ! 'tis mighty toil to reach this height, 
To vanquish self is a laborious art ; 
What manly courage to sustain the fight 

To bear the noble pain, and part 
With those dear charming tempters rooted in the 
heart ! 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 43 

Tis hard to stand when all the passions move, 
Hard to awake the eye that passion blinds, 
To rend and tear out this unhappy love, 
That clings so close about our minds, 
And where th' enchanted soul so sweet a poison finds. 

Hard ; but it may be done. Come, heavenly fire, 
Come to my breast, and with one powerful ray 
Melt off my lusts, my fetters: I can bear 

A while to be a tenant here, 
But not be chain'd and prisond in a cage of clay. 

Heav'n is my home and I must use my wings ; 
Sublime above the globe my flight aspires : 
I have a soul was made to pity kings, 
And all their little glitt'ring things; 
I have a soul was made for infinite desires. 

Loos' d from the earth, my heart is upward flown: 
Farewel, my friends, and all that once was mine; 
Nor, should you fix my feet on Csesar's throne, 

Crown me, and call the world my own, 
The gold that binds my brows could ne'er my 
soul confine. 

I am the Lord's, and Jesus is my love ; 
He, the dear God, shall fill my vast desire, 
My flesh below ; yet I can dwell above, 

And nearer to my Saviour move ; 
There all my soul shall center, all my pow'rs 
conspire. 

Thus I with angels live ; thus half divine 
I sit on high, nor mind inferior joys: 



44 LYRIC POEMS, book i 

FilFd with his love, I feel that God is mine, 

His glory is my great design, 
That everlasting project all my thought employs. 



A SONG TO CREATING WISDOM. 

PART I. 

Internal Wisdom, thee we praise, 

Thee the creation sings ; 
With thy loud name, rocks, hills, and seas, 

And heaven's high palace rings. 

Place me on the bright wings of day 

To travel with the sun ; 
With what amaze shall I survey 

The wonders thou hast done ? 

Thy hand how wide it spread the sky, 

How glorious to behold ? 
Ting'd with a blue of heavenly dye, 

And starrd with sparkling gold. 

There thou hast bid the globes of light 

Their endless circles run ; 
There the pale planet rules the nighf, 

And day obeys the sun. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 4& 



PART II. 



Downward I turn my wondring eyes 
On clouds and storms below, 

Those under regions of the skies 
Thy num'rous glories show. 

The noisy winds stand ready there 

Thy orders to obey, 
With sounding wings they sweep the air r 

To make thy chariot way. 

There, like a trumpet, loud and strong, 
Thy thunder shakes our coast : 

While the red light'nings wave along, 
The banners of thine host. 

On the thin air, without a prop, 
Hang fruitful show'rs around : 

At thy command they sink, and drop 
Their fatness on the ground. 

PART III. 

Now to the earth I bend my song, 

And cast my eyes abroad, 
Glancing the British isles along ; 

Blest isles, confess your God. 

How did his wond'rous skill array 
Your fields in charming green ; 

A thousand herbs his art display, 
A thousand flowers between I 



46 LYRIC POEMS. 

Tall oaks for future navies grow, 
Fair Albion's best defence, 

While corn and vines rejoice below, 
Those luxuries of sense. 

The bleating flocks his pasture feeds : 

And herds of larger size, 
That bellow thro' the Lindian meads, 

His bounteous hand supplies. 

PART IV. 

We see the Thames caress the shores, 
He guides her silver flood : 

While angry Severn swells and roars, 
Yet hears her ruler God. 

The roiling mountains of the deep 
Observe his strong command ; 

His breath can raise the billows steep, 
Or sink them to the sand. 

Amidst thy wat'ry kingdoms, Lord, 

The finny nations play, 
And scaly monsters, at thy word, 

Rush thro' the northern sea. 



PART V. 

Thy glories blaze all nature round, 
And strike the gazing sight, 

Thro' skies, and seas, and solid ground, 
With terror and delight. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 47 

Infinite strength, and equal skill, 

Shine thro' the worlds abroad, 
Our souls with vast amazement fill, 

And speak the builder God. 

But the sweet beauties of thy grace 

Our softer passions move ; 
Pity divine in Jesus' face 

We see, adore, and love. 



GODS ABSOLUTE DOMINION. 

Lord, when my thoughtful soul surveys 

Fire, air and earth, and stars and seas, 

I call them all thy slaves ; 
Commission'd by my Fathers will, 
Poisons shall cure, or balms shall kill ; 

Vernal suns, or Zephyrs breath, 
May burn or blast the plants to death 

That sharp December saves ; 

What can winds or planets boast 

But a precarious pow'r ? 
The sun is all in darkness lost, 
Frost shall be fire, and fire be frosty 

When he appoints the hour. 

Lo, the Norwegians near the polar sky 
Chafe their frozen limbs with snow, 
Their frozen limbs awake and glow, 
The vital flame touch'd with a strange supply, 

Rekindles, for the God of life is nigh j 



48. LYRIC POEMS, book t. 

He bids the vital flood in wonted circles flow. 

Cold steel expos'd to northern air, 
Drinks the meridian fury of the midnight bear, 

And burns th 1 unwary stranger there. 

Enquire, my soul, of ancient fame, 
Look back two thousand years, and see 
Th' Assyrian prince transform'd a brute. 
For boasting to be absolute : 

Once to his court the God of Israel came, 
A King more absolute than he. 
I see the furnace blaze with rage 
Sevenfold : I see amidst the flame 
Three Hebrews of immortal name ; 

They move, they walk across the burning stage 

Unhurt, and fearless, while the tyrant stood 
A statue j fear congeal' d his blood: 
Nor did the raging element dare 
Attempt their garments, or their hair ; 

It knew the Lord of nature there. 

Nature, compeird by a superior cause, 
Now breaks her own eternal laws, 
Now seems to break them, and obeys 
Her SovVeign King in different ways. 
Father, how bright thy glories shine ! 
How broad thy kingdom, how divine \ 

Nature, and miracle, and fate, and chance are thine. 

Hence from my heart, ye idols, flee, 
Ye sounding names of vanity ! 
No more my lips shall sacrifice 
To ciiance and nature, tales and lies : 
Creatures without a God can yield me no supplies. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 49 

What is the sun, or what the shade, 
Or frosts, or flames, to kill or save ? 
His favour is my life, his lips pronounce me dead; 
And as his awful dictates bid, 
Earth is my mother, or my grave. 



CONDESCENDING GRACE. 
Iii imitation of Psalm cxivth. 

When the Eternal bows the skies, 

To visit earthly things, 
With scorn divine he turns his eyes 

From towers of haughty kings. 

Rides on a cloud disdainful by 

A Sultan, or a Czar, 
Laughs at the worms that rise so high, 

Or frowns 'em from afar, 

He bids his awful chariot roll 
Far downward from the skies, 

To visit every humble soul, 
With pleasure in his eyes. 

Why should the Lord that reigns above 

Disdain so lofty kings ? 
Say, Lord, and why such looks of love 

Upon such worthless things ? 

Mortals, be dumb ; what creature dares, 

Dispute his awful will ? 
Ask no account of his affairs, 

But tremble, and be still. 

E 



50 LYRIC POEMS, 

Just like his nature is his grace, 

All sovereign, and all free ; 
Great God, how searchless are thy ways ! 

How deep thy judgments be ! 



THE INFINITE. 



Some seraph, lend your heavenly tongue, 

Or harp of golden string, 
That I may raise a lofty song 

To our Eternal King. 

Thy names, how infinite they be ! 

Great Everlasting One 1 
Boundless thy might and majesty, 

And unconfind thy throne. 

Thy glories shine of wondrous size, 
And wondrous large thy grace ; 

Immortal day breaks from thine eyes, 
And Gabriel veils his face. 

Thine essence is a vast abyss, 

Which angels cannot sound, 
An ocean of infinities 

Where all our thoughts are drown'd. 

The mysteries of creation lie, 

Beneath enlightend minds, 
Thoughts can ascend above the sky, 

And fly before the winds. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. M 

Reason may grasp the massy hills, 

And stretch from pole to pole, 
But half thy name our spirit fills, 

And overloads our soul. 

In vain our haughty reason swells, 

For nothing's found in thee 
But boundless unconceivables, 

And vast eternity. 



CONFESSION AND PARDON. 



Alas, my aching heart ! 
Here the keen torment lies ; 
It racks my waking hours with smart, 
And frights my slumb'ring eyes. 

Guilt will be hid no more, 
My griefs take vent apace, 
The crimes that blot my conscience o'er 
Flush crimson in my face. 

My sorrows, like a flood, 
Impatient of restraint, 
Into thy bosom, O my God, 
Pour out a long complaint. 

This impious heart of mine, 
Could once defy the Lord, 
Could rush with violence on to sin, 
In presence of thy sword. 
E 2 



52 LYRIC POEMS, b 

How often have I stood 
A rebel to the skies, 
The calls, the tenders of a God, 
And merc3 T 's loudest cries ! 

He offers all his grace, 
And all his heaven to me ; 
Offers ! but 'tis to senseless brass, 
That cannot feel nor see. 

Jesus the Saviour stands 
To court me from above, 
And looks and spreads his wounded hands, 
And shews the prints of love. 

But I, a stupid fool, 
How long have I withstood 
The blessings purchas'd with his soul, 
And paid for all in blood ? 

The heav'nly Dove came down 
And tender' d me his wings 
To mount me upwards to a crown, 
And bright immortal things. 

Lord, I'm asham'd to say 
That I refus'd thy Dove, 
And sent thy Spirit griev'd away, 
To his own realms of love. 

Not all thine heav nly charms, 
Nor terrors of thy hand, 
Could force me to lay down my arms, 
And bow to thy command. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 53 

Lord, 'tis against thy face 
My sins like arrows rise, 
And yet, and yet (O matchless grace !) 
Thy thunder silent lies. 

O shall I never feel 
The meltings of thy love ? 
Am I of such hell-harden d steel 
That mercy cannot move ? 

Now for one powerful glance, 
Dear Saviour, from thy face ! 
This rebel-heart no more withstands, 
But sinks beneath thy grace. 

O'ercome by dying love I fall, 
Here at thy cross I lie ; 
And throw my flesh, my soul, my all, 
And weep, and love, and die. 

" Rise, says the Prince of Mercy, rise, 
" With joy and pity in his eyes : 
" Rise, and behold my wounded veins, 
" Here flows the blood to wash thy stains. 

u See my great Father reconcil'd :" 
He said. And lo, the Father smil'd ; 
The joyful cherubs clapd their wings, 
And sounded grace on all their strings. 



54 LYRIC POEMS, book r 

YOUNG MEN AND MAIDENS, OLD MEN AND 
BABES, PRAISE YE THE LORD. 
,Psaim cxlviii. 12. 
OONS of Adam, bold and young, 
In the wild mazes of whose veins 
A flood of fiery vigour reigns, 
And wields your active limbs, with hardy sinews 
strung; 
Fall prostrate at th' eternal throne 
Whence your precarious powers depend; 
Nor swell as if your lives were all your own, 
But choose your Maker for your friend ; 
His favour is your life, his arm is your support, 
His hand can stretch your days, or cut your 
minutes short. 

Virgins, who roll your artful eyes, 
And shoot delicious danger thence ; 
Swift the lovely lightning flies, 
And melts our reason down to sense; 
Boast not of those withering charms 
That must yield their youthful grace 
To age and wrinkles, earth and worms : 

But love the author of your smiling face; 

That heav'nly Bridegroom claims your blooming 
O make it your perpetual care [hours; 

To please that Everlasting Fair; 

His beauties are the sun, and but the shade is yours. 

Infants, whose different destinies 
Are wove with threads of different size; 
But from the same spring-tide of tears, 
Commence your hopes and joys and fears, 
(A tedious train;) and date your following years : 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 55 

Break your first silence in his praise 
Who wrought your wondrous frame : 

With sounds of tenderest accent raise 
Young honours to his name ; 

And consecrate your early days 
To know the pow'r supreme. 

Ye heads of venerable age, 

Just marching off the mortal stage, 

Fathers, whose vital threads are spun 

As long as e'er the glass of life would run, 
Adore the hand that led your way 

Thro' flow'ry fields a fair long summer's day ; 

Gasp out your soul in praises to the Sovereign 
Pow'r 

That set your west so distant from your dawning 
hour. 



FLYING FOWL, AND CREEPING THINGS, 
PRAISE YE THE LORD, 

Psalm cxlviii. 10. 

Sweet flocks, whose soft enamel'd wing 
Swift and gently cleaves the sky ; 
Whose charming notes address the spring 
With an artless harmony. 
Lovely minstrels of the field, 
Who in leafy shadows sit, 
And your wondrous structures build, 
Awake your tuneful voices with the dawning light; 
To nature's Cod your first devotions pay, 

E'er you salute the rising day, 
Tis he calls up the sun, and gives him every ray. 



56 LYRIC POEMS, bo 

Serpents, who o'er the meadows slide, 
And wear upon your shining back 
Numerous ranks of gaudy pride, 
Which thousand mingling colours make ; 
Let the fierce glances of your eyes 
Rebate their baleful fire : 
In harmless play twist and unfold 
The volumes of your scaly gold : 
That rich embroidery of your gay attire, 
Proclaims your Maker kind and wise. 

Insects and mites, of mean degree, 
That swarm in myriads o'er the land, 
Moulded by wisdom's artful hand, 
And curl'd and painted with a various die ; 
In your innumerable forms 
Praise him that wears th' ethereal crown, 
And bends his lofty counsels down 
To despicable worms. 



THE COMPARISON AND COMPLAINT. 

Infinite power, eternal Lord, 

How sovereign is thy hand ! 
All nature rose f obey thy word, 

And moves at thy command. 

With steady course thy shining sun 

Keeps his appointed way ', 
And all the hours obedient run 

The circle of the day. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION, 57 

But ah S how wide my spirit flies, 

And wanders from her God! 
My soul forgets the heavenly prize, 

And treads the downward-road. 

The raging fire, and stormy sea, 

Perform thine awful will, 
And every beast and every tree, 

Thy great designs fulfil. 

While my wild passions rage within. 

Nor thy commands obey ; 
And flesh and sense, enslav'd to sin, 

Draw my best thoughts awa} r . 

Shall creatures of a meaner frame 

Pay all their dues to thee? 
Creatures, that never knew thy name, 

That never lov'd like me ? 

Great God, create my soul anew, 

Conform my heart to thine, 
Melt down my will, and let it flow, 

And take the mould divine. 

Seize my whole frame into thy hand ; 

Here all my pow'rs I bring; 
Manage the wheels by thy command, 

And govern every spring. 

Then shall my feet no more depart, 

Nor wand'ring senses rove ; 
Devotion shall be all my heart, 

And all my passions love* 



58 LYRIC POEMS. 

Then not the sun shall more than I 
His Maker's law perform, 

Nor travel swifter thro' the sky, 
Nor with a zeal so warm. 



GOD SUPREME AND SELF-SUFFICIENT. 

VV hat is our God, or what his name, 

Nor men can learn, nor angels teach ; 
He dwells conceal'd in radiant flame, 

Where neither eyes nor thoughts can reach. 

The spacious worlds of heav'nly light, 
Compar'd with him, how short they fall ? 

They are too dark, and he too bright, 
Nothing are they, and God is all. 

He spoke the wondrous word, and lo, 

Creation rose at his command : 
Whirlwinds and seas their limits know, 

Bound in the hollow of his hand. 

There rests the earth, there roll the spheres, 
There nature leans, and feels her prop : 

But his own self-sufficience bears 
The weight of his own glories up. 

The tide of creatures ebbs and flows, 
Measuring their changes by the moon : 

No ebb his sea of glory knows ; 
His age is one eternal noon. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 59 

Then fly, my song, an endless round, 

The lofty tune let Michael raise ; 
All nature dwell upon the sound, 

But we can ne'er fulfil the praise. 



JESUS THE ONLY SAVIOUR. 

Adam, our father and our head 
Transgrest ; and justice doom'd us dead : 
The fiery law speaks all despair, 
There's no reprieve, nor pardon there. 

Call a bright counsel in the skies ; 
" Seraphs the mighty and the wise, 
u Say, what expedient can you give, 
" That sin be damnd, and sinners live ? 

" Speak, are you strong to bear the load, 
" The weighty vengeance of a God ? 
" Which of you loves our wretched race, 
" Or dares to venture in our place ?" 

In vain we ask : for all around 
Stands silence thro' the heavenly ground : 
There's not a glorious mind above 
Has half the strength, or half the love. 

But, O unutterable Grace ! 
Th' eternal Son takes Adam's place : 
Down to our world the Saviour flies, 
Stretches his naked arms, and dies. 



60 LYRIC POEMS, a 

Justice was pleas'd to bruise the God, 
And pay its wrongs with heavenly blood; 
What unknown racks and pangs he bore ! 
Then rose : The law could ask no more. 

Amazing work! look down, ye skies, 
Wonder and gaze with all your eyes ; 
Ye heavenly thrones, stoop from above, 
And bow to this mysterious love. 

See, how they bend I See, how they look ! 
Long they had read th 1 Eternal Book, 
And studied dark decrees in vain, 
The cross and Calvary makes them plain. 

Now they are struck with deep amaze, 
Each with his wings conceals his face ; 
Now clap their sounding plumes, and cry, 
The wisdom of a Deity ! 

Low they adore th' incarnate Son, 
And sing the glories he hath won ; 
Sing how he broke our iron chains, 
How deep he sunk, how high he reigns. 

Triumph and reign, victorious Lord, 
By all thy flaming hosts ador'd : 
And say, dear Conqueror, say, how long,. 
Ere we shall rise to join their song. 

Lo, from afar the promis'd day 
Shines with a well-distinguish'd ray ; 
But my wing d passion hardly bears 
These lengths of slow delaying years. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 61 

Send down a chariot from above, 
With fiery wheels, and pav'd with love ; 
Raise me beyond th' ethereal blue, 
To sinsr and love as angels do. 



LOOKING UPWARD. 



The heavens invite mine eye, 
The stars salute me round ; 

Father, I blush, I mourn to lie 
Thus grovelling on the ground. 

My warmer spirits move, 
And make attempts to fly; 

I wish aloud for wings of love 
To raise me swift and high. 

Beyond those crystal vaults, 
And all their sparkling balls ; 

They're but the porches to thy courts, 
And paintings on thy walls. 

Vain world, farewell to you j 

Heaven is my native air : 
I bid my friends a short adieu, 

Impatient to be there. 

I feel my powers releast 
From their old fleshy clod ; 

Fair guardian, bear me up in haste 
And set me near my God. 



62 LYRIC POEMS, 



CHRIST DYING, RISING, AND REIGNING, 

He dies ! the heavenly Lover dies ! 

The tidings strike a doleful sound 
On my poor heart-strings : deep he lies 

In the cold caverns of the ground. 

Come, saints, and drop a tear or two, 
On the dear bosom of your God, 

He shed a thousand drops for you, 
A thousand drops of richer blood. 

Here's love and grief beyond degree, 
The Lord of Glory dies for men ! 

But lo, what sudden joys I see ! 
Jesus the dead revives again. 

The rising God forsakes the tomb, 
Up to his Father's court he flies ; 

Cherubic legions guard him home, 
And shout him welcome to the skies. 

Break off your tears, ye saints, and tell 
How high our Great Deliverer reigns, 

Sing how he spoil d the hosts of hell, 
And led the monster Death in chains. 

Say, live for ever, wondrous King ! 

Born to redeem, and strong to save ! 
Then ask the monster, \V here's his sting ? 

And where a thy victor}', boasting Grave ? 



SACRED TO DEVOTION 63 



THE GOD OF THUNDER. 



O the immense, th' amazing height, 
The boundless grandeur of our God, 

Who treads the worlds beneath his feet t 
And sways the nations with his nod ! 

He speaks ; and lo, all nature shakes, 
Heav'ns everlasting pillars bcw ; 

He rends the clouds with hideous cracks, 
And shoots his fiery arrows through. 

Well, let the nations start and fly 
At the blue lightning's horrid glare, 

Atheists and emperors shrink and die, 
When flame and noise torment the air. 

Let noise and flame confound the skies, 
And drown the spacious realms below, 

Yet will we sing the Thunderer's praise, 
And send our loud hosannas through. 

Celestial King, thy blazing power 
Kindles our hearts to flaming joys, 

We shout to hear thy thunders roar, 
And echo to our Father's voice. 

Thus shall the God our Saviour come, 
And lightnings round his chariot play, 

Ye lightnings, fly to make him room, 
Ye glorious storms, prepare his way. 



64 LYRIC POEMS, book r. 

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT. 
AN ODE. 

Attempted in English Sapphick. 

When the fierce north wind with his airy forces 
Rears up the Baltic to a foaming fury ; 
And the red lightning, with a storm of hail comes, 
Rushing amain down. 

How the poor sailors stand amaz'd and tremble ! 
While the hoarse thunder, like a bloody trumpet, 
Roars a loud onset to the gaping waters 

Quick to devour them. 

Such shall the noise be, and the wild disorder, 
(If things eternal may be like those earthly) 
Such the dire terror when the great Archangel 
Shakes the creation ; 

Tears the strong pillars of the vault of heaven, 
Breaks up old marble, the repose of princes ; 
See the graves open, and the bones arising, 

Flames all around 'em I 

Hark, the shrill outcries of the guilty wretches ! 
Lively bright horror, and amazing anguish, 
Stare thro 1 their eye-lids, while the living worm lies 
Gnawing within them. 

Thoughts, like old vultures, prey upon their heart- 
strings, 
And the smart twinges, when the eye beholds the 
Lofty Judge frowning, and a flood of vengeance 

Rolling afore him. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 65 

Hopeless immortals ! how they scream and shiver 
While devils push them to the pit wide-yawning 
Hideous and gloomy to receive them headlong 

Down to the centre. 

Stop here, my fancy : (all away, ye horrid 
Doleful ideas,) come, arise to Jesus, 
How he sits God-like ! and the saints around him 
Thron d, yet adoring ! 

O may I sit there when he comes triumphant, 
Dooming the nations ! then ascend to glory, 
While our hosannas all along the passage 

Shout the Redeemer. 



THE SONG OF ANGELS ABOVE. 

-Larth has detain' d me prisoner long, 

And I'm grown weary now : 
My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue, 

There's nothing here for you. 

Tir'd in my thoughts I stretch me down, 
And upward glance mine eyes ; 

Upward, my Father, to thy throne, 
And to my native skies. 

There the dear Man, my Saviour sits, 
The God, how bright he shines ! 

Vnd scatters infinite delights 
On all the happy minds. 

F 



66 LYRIC POE]\IS. 

Seraphs with elevated strains 

Circle the throne around, 
And move and charm the starry plains 

With an immortal sound. 

Jesus the Lord their harps employs, 

Jesus, my love they sing, 
Jesus, the name of both our joys 

Sounds sweet from every string. 

Hark, how beyond the narrow bounds 

Of time and space they run, 
And speak in most majestic sounds, 

The Godhead of the Son. 

How on the Father's breast he lay, 

The darling of his soul, 
Infinite years before the day 

Or heavens began to roll. 

And now they sink the lofty tone, 
And gentler notes they play. 

And bring th' Eternal Godhead down 
To dwell in humble clay. 

O sacred beauties of the Man ! 

(The God resides within) 
His flesh all pure, without a stain, ■ 

His soul without a sin. 

Then, how he look'd, and how he smiFd, 
What wondrous things he said ! 

Sweet cherubs, stay, dwell here a while, 
And tell what Jesus did. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 67 

At his command the blind awake, 

And feel the gladsome rays ; 
He bids the dumb attempt to speak, 

They try their tongues in praise. 

He shed a thousand blessings round 

Where'er he turn'd his eye ; 
He spoke, and at the sovereign sound 

The hellish legions fly. 

Thus while with unambitious strife 

Th' ethereal minstrels rove 
Thro' all the labours of his life, 

And wonders of his love; 

In the full choir a broken string 

Groans with a strange surprize ; 
The rest in silence mourn their king, 

That bleeds, and loves, and dies. 

Seraph and saint, with drooping wings, 

Cease their harmonious breath ; 
No blooming trees, nor bubbling springs,. 

While Jesus sleeps in death. 

Then all at once to living strains 

They summon every chord, 
Break up the tomb, and burst his chains, 

And shew their rising Lord. 

Around the flaming army throngs 

To guard him to the skies, 
With loud Hosannas on their tongues, 

And triumph in their eyes. 

f i 



68 LYRIC POEMS. book i. 

In awful state the conquering God 

Ascends his shining throne, 
While tuneful angels sound abroad 

The vicfries he has won. 

Now let me rise, and join their song, 

And be an angel too ; 
My heart, my hand, my ear, my tongue. 

Here's joyful work for you. 

I would begin the music here, 

And so my soul should rise : 
Oh for some heavenly notes to bear 

My spirit to the skies ! 

There, ye that love my Saviour, sit, 

There I would fain have place, 
Amongst your thrones, or at your feet 

So I might see his face, 

I am confin'd to earth no more, 

But mount in haste above, 
To bless the God that I adore, 

And sing the Man I love. 



FIRE, AIR, EARTH, AND SEA, PRAISE YE 
THE LORD. 

Earth, thou great footstool of our God 
Who reigns on high-; thou fruitful source 
Of all our raiment, life and food ; 
Our house, our parent, and our nurse - 9 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 69 

Mighty stage of mortal scenes, 
Drest with strong and gay machines, 
Hung with golden lamps around 5 
(And flow'ry carpets spread the ground) 
Thou bulky globe, prodigious mass, 
That hangs unpillar'd in an empty space : 
While thy unwieldy weight rests on the feeble air, 
Bless that Almighty Word that fix'd and holds 
thee there. 

Fire, thou swift herald of his face, 

Whose glorious rage, at his command* 

Levels a palace with the sand, 
Blending the lofty spires in ruin with the base : 

Ye heav nly flames, that singe the air, 

Artillery of a jealous God; 
Bright arrows that his sounding quivers bear 

To scatter deaths abroad ; 
Lightnings, adore the sovereign arm that flings 
His vengeance, and your fires, upon the heads of 
kings. 

Thou vital element, the air, 

Whose boundless magazines of breath 

Our fainting flame of life repair, 
And save the bubble man from the cold arms of 

death : 
And ye, whose vital moisture yields 

Lifes purple stream a fresh supply ; 
Sweet waters, wand' ring thro' the fiow'ry fields, 

Or dropping from the sky ; 
Confess the Powr whose all-sufficient name 
Nor needs your aid to build, or to support our 
frame. 



70 LYRIC POEMS, book i. 

Now the rude air, with noisy force, 
Beats up and swells the angry sea, 
They join to make our lives a prey, 
And sweep the sailor's hopes away, 
Vain hopes, to reach their kindred on the shores ! 
Lo, the wild seas %nd surging waves 
Gape hideous in a thousand graves : 
Be still, ye floods, and know your bounds of sand, 
Ye storms, adore your Masters hand ; ( 
The winds are in his fist, the waves at his command. 

From the eternal emptiness 
His fruitful word by secret springs 
Drew the whole harmony of things 
That form this noble universe : 
Old Nothing knew his pow'rful hand, 
Scarce had he spoke his full command, 
Fire, air, and earth, and sea heard the creating call, 
And leap'd from empty nothing to this beauteous 
And still they dance, and still obey [All; 
The orders they receivd the great creation-day. 



THE FAREWEL. 



i^EAD be my heart to all below, 
To mortal joys and mortal cares ; 

To sensual bliss that charms us so 

Be dark, my eyes, and deaf, mine ears. 

Here I renounce my carnal taste 
Of the fair fruit that sinners prize : 

Their paradise shall never waste 

One thought of mine, but to despise. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 71 

AH earthly joys are over-weigh' d 
With mountains of vexatious care ; 

And where's the sweet that is not laid 
A bait to some destructive snare ? 

Be gone for ever, mortal things ! 

Thou mighty mole-hill, earth, farewel ! 
Angels aspire on lofty wings, 

And leave the globe for ants to dwell. 

Come Heaven, and fill my vast desires, 
My soul pursues the sovereign good ; 

She was all made of heavenly fires, 
Nor can she live on meaner food. 



GOD ONLY KNOWN TO HIMSELF. 

Stand and adore ! how glorious he 
That dwells in bright eternity ! 
We gaze, and we confound our sight 
Plung'd in th' abyss of dazzling light. 

Thou sacred One, Almighty Three, 
Great Everlasting Mystery, 
What lofty numbers shall we frame 
Equal to thy tremendous name ? 

Seraphs, the nearest to the throne, 
Begin, and speak the Great Unknown : 
Attempt the song, wind up your strings, 
To notes untry'd, and boundless things. 



72 LYRIC POEMS. 

You, whose capacious powers survey 
Largely beyond our eyes of clay : 
Yet what a narrow portion too 
Is seen, or known, or thought by you ? 

How flat your highest praises fall 
Below the immense Original ! 
Weak creatures we, that strive in vain 
To reach an uncreated strain ! 

Great God, forgive our feeble lays, 
Sound out thine own eternal praise ; 
A song so vast, a theme so high, 
Calls for the voice that tun'd the skv. 



PARDON AND SANCTIFIC ATION. 

JVIy crimes awake; and hideous fear 

Distracts my restless mind, 
Guilt meets my eyes with horrid glare, 

And hell pursues behind. 

Almighty vengeance frowns on high, 
And flames array the throne; 

While thunder murmurs round the sky, 
Impatient to be gone. 

Where shall I hide this noxious head ? 

Can recks or mountains save ? 
Or shall I wrap me in the shade 

Of midnight and the grave? 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 1* 

Is there no shelter from the eye 

Of a revenging God ? 
Jesus, to thy dear wounds I fly, 

Bedew me with thy blood. 

Those guardian drops my soul secure, 

And wash away my sin ; 
Eternal justice frowns no more, 

And conscience smiles within. 

I bless that wondrous purple stream 

That whitens every stain ; 
Yet is my soul but half redeem'd, 

If Sin the tyrant reign. 

Lord, blast his empire with thy breath, 

That cursed throne msst fall ; 
Ye flattering plagues, that work my death, 

Fly, for I hate you all. 



SOVEREIGNTY AND GRACE. 



The Lord ! how fearful is his name ? 

How wide is his command ? 
Nature, with all her moving frame, 

Rests on his mighty hand. 

Immortal glory forms his throne, 

And light his awful robe ; 
Whilst with a smile, or with a frown, 

He manages the globe. 



74 LYRIC POEMS, book i. 

A word of his almighty breath 

Can swell or sink the seas 5 
Build the vast empires of the earth, 

Or break them as he please. 

Adoring angels round him fall 

In all their shining forms, 
His sovereign eve looks thro' them all, 

And pities mortal worms. 

His bowels, to our worthless race, 

In sweet compassion move ; 
He clothes his looks with softest grace, 

And takes his title, Love. 

Now let the Lord for ever reign, 

And sway us as he will, 
Sick, or in health, in ease, or pain, 

We are his favourites still. 

No more shall peevish passion rise, 

The tongue no more complain ; 
Tis sovereign love that lends our joys, 

And love resumes a<2ain. 



THE LAW AND GOSPEL. 



" Curst be the man, for ever curst, 
" That doth one wilful sin commit ; 

" Death and damnation for the first, 
" Without relief and infinite." 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 

Thus Sinai roars; and round the earth 
Thunder, and fire, and vengeance flings; 

But Jesus, thy dear gasping breath, 
And Calvary, say gentler things. 

" Pardon, and grace, and boundless love, 
" Streaming along a Saviours blood, 

" And life, and joys, and crowns above, 
" Dear-purchas'd by a bleeding God." 

Hark, how he prays, (the charming sound 
Dwells on his dying lips) forgive ; 

And every groan and gaping wound, 
Cries, " Father, let the rebels live." 

Go you that rest upon the law, 
And toil, and seek salvation there, 

Look to the flames that Moses saw, 
And shrink, and tremble, and despair. 

But Til retire beneath the cross, 

Saviour, at thy dear feet I lie ; 
And the keen sword that Justice draws, 

Flaming and red, shall pass me by. 



SEEKING A DIVINE CALM IN A RESTLESS 

WORLD. 

O Mens, qua? stabili fata Regis vice, &c. 

Casimive, Book III. Od. 28, 



Internal mind, who rul'st the fates 
Of dying realms, and rising states, 



76 LYRIC POEMS. b< 

With one unchang'd decree, 
While we admire thy vast affairs 
Say, can our little trifling cares 

Afford a smile to thee ? 

Thou scatterest honours, crowns, and gold j 
We fly to seize, and fight to hold 

The bubbles and the ore : 
So emmets struggle for a grain; 
So boys their petty wars maintain 

For shells upon the shore. 

Here a vain man his scepter breaks, 
The next a broken scepter takes, 

And warriors win and lose ; 
This rolling world will never stand 
Plundered and snatch'd from hand to hand, 

As power decays or grows. 

Earth's but an atom : greedy swords 
Carve it amongst a thousand lords, 

And yet they cant agree : 
Let greedy swords still fight and slay, 
I can be poor : but Lord, I pray 

To sit and smile with thee. 



HAPPY FRAILTY. 



il How meanly dwells th' immortal mind ! 

" How vile these bodies are ! 
u Why was a clod of earth design d 

" T' enclose a heavenly star ? 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 77 

" Weak cottage where our souls reside ! 

* This flesh a tottring wall ; 
" With frightful breaches gaping wide 

" The building bends to fall. 

" All round it storms of trouble blow, 

*' And waves of sorrow roll 5 
*' Cold waves and winter storms beat through, 

" And pain the tenant-souL 

*' Alas ! how frail our state l" said I; 

And thus went mourning on, 
Till sudden from the cleaving sky 

A gleam of glory shone. 

My soul all felt the glory come, 

And breath 1 d her native air ; 
Then she remember'd heaven her home, 

And she a prisoner here. 

Straight she began to change her key, 

And joyful in her pains, 
She sung the frailty of her clay 

In pleasurable strains. 

" How weak the pris n is where I dwell ! 

" Flesh but a tottering wall, 
" The breaches certainly foretel, 

" The house must shortly fall. 

4( No more, my friends, shall I complain, 

" Tho' all my heart-strings ache ; 
•* i Welcome, disease, and every pain, 

" That makes the cottage shake. 



78 LYRIC POEMS, 

u Now let the tempest blow all round, 
" Now swell the surges high, 

" And beat this house of bondage down, 
* To let the stranger fly. 

" I have a mansion built above 

<l By the Eternal hand ; 
" And should the earth's old basis move 

" My heav'nly house must stand. 

" Yes, for 'tis there my Saviour reigns, 

" (I long to see the God) 
" And his immortal strength sustains 

" The courts that cost him blood." 

Hark ! from on high my Saviour calls : 
" I come, my Lord, my love :" 

Devotion breaks the prison- walls, 
And speeds my last remove. 



LAUNCHING INTO ETERNITY. 

It was a brave attempt! adventurous he, 
Who in the first ship broke the unknown sea: 
And leaving his dear native shores behind, 
Trusted his life to the licentious wind. 
I see the surging brine: the tempest raves : 
He on the pine-plank rides across the waves, 
Exulting on the edge of thousand gaping graves 
Lie steers the winged boat, and shifts the sails, 
Conquers the flood, and manages the gales. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 79 

V 

Such is the soul that leaves this mortal land, 
Fearless when the great Master gives command. 
Death is the storm : she smiles to hear it roar, 
And bids the tempest waft her from the shore : 
Then with a skilful helm she sweeps the seas, 
And manages the raging storm with ease; 
(Her faith can govern death) she spreads her wings 
Wide to the wind, and as she sails she sings, 
And loses by degrees the sight of mortal things. 
As the shores lessen, so her joys arise, 
The waves roll gentler, and the tempest dies, 
Now vast eternity fills all her sight, 
She floats on the broad deep with infinite delight, 
The seas for ever calm, the skies for ever bright. 



A PROSPECT OF THE RESURRECTION. 

How long shall Death the tyrant reign 

And triumph o'er the just ? 
"While the rich blood of martyrs slain 

Lies mingled with the dust ? 

When shall the tedious night be gone; 

When will our Lord appear ? 
Our fond desires Avould pray him down, 

Our love embrace him here. 

Let faith arise and climb the hills, 

And from afar descry 
How distant are his chariot wheels, 

And tell how fast they fly. 



SO LYRIC POEMS, book i. 

Lo, I behold the scattering shades, 

The dawn of heav'n appears, 
The sweet immortal morning spreads 

Its blushes round the spheres. 

I see the the Lord of glory come, 

And flaming guards around : 
The skies divide to make him room, 

The trumpet shakes the ground. 

I hear the voice, " Ye dead arise," 

And lo, the graves obey, 
And waking saints with joyful eyes 

Salute th' expected day. 

They leave the dust, and on the wing 

Rise to the middle air, 
In shining garments meet their King, 

And low adore him there. 

O may my humble spirit stand 

Amongst them cloth' d in white ! 
The meanest place at his right hand 

Is infinite delight. 

Kow will our joy and wonder rise, 

When our returning King 
Shall bear us homeward thro* the skies 

On love's triumphant wing ! 



SACRED TO DEVOTION". 81 



AD DOMINUM NOSTRUM ET SERVATOREM 
JESUM CHRISTUM. 

ODA. 

Te, grande numen, corporis incola, 
Te, magna magni progenies patris, 
Nomen verendum nostri Jesu 
Vox, citharae, calami sonabunt. 

Aptentur auro grandisonse fides, 
Christi triumphos incipe barbite, 
Fractosque terrores Averni, 
Victum Erebum, domitanque mortem. 

Immensa vastos saecula circulos 
Volvere, blando dum patris in sinu 
Toto fruebatur Jehovah 
Gaudia mille bibens Jesus; 

Donee superno vidit ab aethere 
Adam cadentem, tartara hiantia, 
Unaque mergendos ruina 

Heu nimium miseros nepotes : 

Vidit minaces vindicis angeli 
Ignes et ensem, telaque sanguine 
Tingenda nostro, dum rapinse 
Spe fremuere Erebaea monstra. 

Commota sacras viscera protinus 
Sensere flammas, Omnipotens furor 
Ebullit, immensique amoris 
iEthereum calet igne pectus, 

Q 



82 LYKIC POEMS, book i. 

*' Non tota prorsus gens hominum dabit 

*' Hosti triumphos : quid patris et labor 

" Duicisque imago ? num peribunt 

*' Funditus ? O prius astra cascis. 

" Mergantur undis, et redeat chaos : 
'*' Aut ipse disperdam Satanae dolos, 
" Aut ipse disperdar, et isti 
, u Sceptra dabo moderanda dextrse. 

*' Testor paternum numen, et hoc caput 
" ^Equate testor, dixit ; et aetheris 
Inclinat ingens culm en, alto 
Desiliitque ruens olympo. 

Mortale corpus impiger induit 
Artusque nostros, heu tenues nimis 
Nimisque viles ! vindicique 
Corda dedit fodienda ferro. 

Vitamque morti ; proh dolor ! O graves 
Tonandis irae ! O lex satis aspera I 
Mercesque peccati severa 
Adamici, vetitique fructus. 

Non posna lenis ! quo ruis impotens ! 
Quo musa I largas fundere lachrymas, 
Bustique divini triumphos 
Sacrilego temerare fletu I 

Sepone questus, lseta Deum cane 
Majore chorda. Psalle sonorius 
Ut ferreas mortis cavernas 
Et rigidam penetravit aulam. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION - . 83 

Sense re nuraen regna feralia, 
Mugit barathrum, contremuit chaos, 
Dirum fremebat rex Gehennae, 
Perque suum tremebundus orcum. 

Late refugit. " Nil agis impie, 
" Mergat vel imis te Phlegethon vadis, 
" Hoc findet undas fulmen, inquit," 
Et patrios jaculatus ignes. 

Trajecit hostem. Nigra silentia 
Umbraeque flammas aethereas pavent 
Dudum perosae, ex quo corusco 
Praecipites cecidere coelo. 

Immane rugit jam tonitru ■, fragor 
Late ruinam mandat : ab infimis 
Lectaeque designata genti 
Tartara disjiciuntur antris. 

Heic strata passim vincula, et heic jacenfc 
Unci cruenti, tormina mentium 
Invisa ; ploratuque vasto 

Spicula mors sibi adempta plangit. 

En, ut resurgit victor ab ultimo 
Ditis profundo, curribus aureis 
Astricta raptans monstra noctis 
Perdomitumque Erebi tyrannum. 

Quanta angelorum gaudia jubilant 
Victor paternum dum repetit polum? 
En qualis ardet, dum beati 
Limina scandit ovans olympi ! 

G 2 



84 LYRIC POEMS, 

Io triumphe plectra seraphica, 
Io triumphe grex hominum sonet, 
Dum laeta quaquaversus ambos 
Astra repercutiunt triumphos. 



SUI-IPSIUS INCREPATIO. 

EPIGRAMMA. 

Corp ore cur haeres, Wattsi } cur incola terras? 

Quid cupis indignum, mens habitare Iutum ? 
Te caro mille malis premit ; hinc juvenes gravat 
artus 

Languor, et hinc vegetus crimina sanguis alit. 
Cura, amor, ira, dolor mentem male distrahit; 
auceps 

Undique adest Satanas retia saeva struens. 
Suspice ut aethereum signant tibi nutibus astra, 

Tramitem, et aula vocat parta cruore Dei. 
Te manet Uriel dux 5 et tibi subjicit alas 

Stellatas seraphin officiosa cohors. 
Te supermini chorus optat amans, te invitat Jesus, 

" Hue ades et nostro tempora conde sinu." 
Vere amat ille lutum quern nee dolor aut Satan 
arcet 

Inde, nee alliciunt angelus, astra, Deus. 



EXCITATIO CORDIS CiELUM VERSUS. 
1694. 

Heu quod secla teris carcere corporis, 
Wattsi ? quid refugis limen et exitum ? 
Nee mens aethereum culm en, et atria 

Magni patris anhelitat ? 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 85 

Corpus -vile creat mille molestias, 
Cifcum corda volant et dolor, et metus, 
Peccatumque malis durius omnibus 

Csecas insidias struit. 

Non hoc grata tibi gaudia de solo 
Surgunt : Christus abest, deliciae tuae, 
Longe Christus abest, inter et angelos 

Et picta astra perambulans. 

*Coeli summi petas, nee jaculabitur. 
Iracunda tonans fulmina : te Deus 
Hortatur ; Vacuum tende per ./Era 

Pennas nunc homini datas. 



BREATHING TOWARD THE HEAVENLY 
COUNTRY. 

CASIMIRE, BOOK I. OD. 19. IMITATED. 

Urit me Patrice Decor, Qc. 

X he beauty of my native land 

Immortal love inspires ; 

I burn, I burn with strong desires, 
And sigh, and wait the high command. 
There glides the moon her shining way, 
And shoots my heart thro' with a silver ray, 
Upward my heart aspires : 

* Vide Horat. Lib. I. Od. 3. 



86 LYRIC POEMS. book i. 

A thousand lamps of golden light 
Hung high, in vaulted azure, charm my sight, 
And wink and beckon with their amorous fires. 
O ye fair glories of my heavenly home, 
Bright centinels who guard my Father's court, 
Where all the happy minds resort, 
When will my Father's chariot come ? 
Must ye for ever walk the ethereal round, 
For ever see the mourner lie 
An exile of the sky, 
A prisoner of the ground ? 
Descend some shining servants from on high, 
Build me a hasty tomb ; 
A grassy turf will raise my head ; 
The neighbouring lilies dress my bed ; 

And shed a sweet perfume. 
Here I put off the chains of death, 

My soul too long has worn : 
Friends, I forbid one groaning breath, 

Or tear to wet my urn ; 
Raphael, behold me all undrest, 
Here gently lay this flesh to rest ; 
Then mount, and lead the path unknown, 
Swift I pursue thee, flaming guide, on pinions of 
mv own. 



CASIMIRI EPIGRAMMA 100. 

In Sanctum Ardalionem qui ex Mimo Christianuf 
factus Marty rium passu s est. 

Ardalio sacros deridet carmine ritus, 
Festaque non aequa voce Theatra quatit, 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 87 

Audiit Omnipotens ; " Non est opus, inquhv 
hiulco 
" Fulmine; tarn facilem, gratia, vince virum." 
Deserit ilia polos, et deserit iste theatrum, 

■Et tereti sacrum volvit in ense caput. 
u Sic, sic, inquit, abit nostras comoedia vitas ; 
u Terra vale, coelum plaude, tyranne ferL 

ENGLISHED. 

On Saint Ardalio, who from a Stage-player became at 
Christian, and suffered Martyrdom. 

Ardalio jeers, and in his comic strains 
The mysteries of our bleeding God profanes, 
While his loud laughter shakes the painted scenes*. 

Heaven heard, and strait around the smoking throne 
The kindling lightning in thick flashes shone, 
Ancf vengeful thunder murmur'd to be gone. 

Mercy stood near, and with a smiling brow 
Cahnd the loud thunder ; " There's no need of 

you; 
u Grace shall descend, and the weak man subdue." 

Grace leaves the skies, and he the stage forsakes, 
He bows his head down to the martyring axe, 
And as he bows, this gentle farewel speaks; 

" So goes the comedy of life away ; 

" Vain earth, adieu ; heaven will applaud to-day; 

" Strike courteous tyrant, and conclude the play;.'* 



88 LYRIC POEMS, book i. 

When the Protestant Church at Montpelier was demo- 
lished by the French King's order, the Protestants 
laid the stones up in their burying-place, whereon 
a Jesuit made a Latin Epigram. 

ENGLISHED THUS : 

A Hug'not church, once at Montpelier built, 
Stood and proclaim' d their madness and their guilt; 
Too long it stood beneath Heav'n s angry frown, 
Worthy when raising to be thunder' d down. 
Lewis, at last, th' avenger of the skies, 
Commands, and level with the ground it lies : 
The stones dispers'd, their wretched offspring 

come, 
Gather, and heap them on their fathers tomb. 
Thus the curs'd house falls on the builder's head: 
And tho' beneath the ground their bones are laid, 
Yet the just vengeance still pursues the guilty 

dead. 



THE ANSWER BY A FRENCH PROTESTANT. 
ENGLISHED THUS : 

A Christian church once at Montpelier stood, 
And nobly spoke the builder's zeal for God. 
It stood the envy of the fierce dragoon, 
But not deserv'd to be destroy'd so soon : 
Yet Lewis, the vile tyrant of the age, 
Tears down the walls, a victim to his rage. 
Y'oung faithful hands pile up the sacred stones 
(Dear monument !) o'er their dead fathers' bones 5 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 89 

The stones shall move when the dead fathers rise, 
Start up before the pale destroyer s eyes, 
And testify his madness to th' avenging skies. 



TWO HAPPY RIVALS, DEVOTION AND THE 

MUSE. 

vV ild as the lightning, various as the moon, 

Roves my Pindaric song: 
Here she glows like burning noon 

In fiercest flames, and here she plays 
Gentle as star-beams on the midnight seas; 
Now in a smiling angel's form, 
Anon she rides upon the storm, 
Loud as the noisy thunder, as a deluge strong. 
Are my thoughts and wishes free, 
And know no number nor degree ? 
Such is the muse : lo, she disdains 

The links and chains, 
Measures and rules of vulgar strains 
And o'er the laws of harmony a sovereign queen 
she reigns. 

If she roves 
By streams or groves 
Tuning her pleasures or her pains, 
My passion keeps her still in sight, 
My passion holds an equal flight 
Thro' love's, or nature's wide campaigns* 
If with bold attempt she sings 
Of the biggest mortal things, 
Tottering thrones and nations slain ; 



90 LYRIC POEMS, book i. 

Or breaks the fleets of warring king& 
While thunders roar 
From shore to shore, 
My soul sits fast upon her wings, 
And sweeps the crimson surge, or scours the pur- 
ple plain ; 
Still I attend her as she flies, 
Round the broad globe, and all beneath the skies. 

But when from the meridian star 

Long streaks of glory shine, 
And Heaven invites her from afar, 
She takes the hint, she knows the sign, 
The muse ascends her heavenly carr, 
And climbs the steepy path, and views the throne 
divine. 
Then she leaves my flutfring mind 
Cloggd with clay, and unrefin'd, 
Lengths of distance far behind : 
Virtue lags with heav} r wheel ; 
Faith has wings, but cannot rise, 

Cannot rise, swift and high 

As the winged numbers fly, 
And faint devotion panting lies 
Half way th 1 ethereal hill. 

O why is piety so weak, 

And yet the muse so strong ? 
When shall these hateful fetters bj eak 

That have confin'd me long ? 
Inward a glowing heat I feel, 

A spark of heav'nly day ; 
But earthly vapours damp my zeal, 
And heavv flesh drags me the downward wav. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION . 91 

Faint are the efforts of my will, 
And mortal passion charms my soul astray. 
Shine, thou sweet hour of dear release, 
Shine, from the sky, 
And call me high 
To mingle with the choirs of glory and of bliss. 
Devotion there begins the flight, 
Awakes the song, and guides the way ; 
There love and zeal divine and bright 
Trace out new regions in the world of light, 
And scarce the boldest muse can follow or obey. 

I'm in a dream, and fancy reigns, 
Spreads she her gay delusive scenes ^ 

Or is the vison true ? 
Behold Religion on her throne, 
In awful state descending down, 
And her dominions vast and bright within my 
spacious view. 
She smiles, and with a courteous hand 

She beckons me away; 
I feel mine airy powers loosen from the cumbrous 
clay, 
And with a joyful haste obey 

Religion's high command. 
What lengths and heights and depths unknown I 
Broad fields with blooming glory sown, 
And seas, and skies, and stars her own, 

In an unmeasur'd sphere ! 
What heavens of joy, and light serene, 
Which nor the rolling sun has seen, 
Where nor the roving muse has been 

That greater traveller ! 



92 LYRIC POEMS, book u 

A long farewel to all below, 
Farewel to all that sense can show, 
To golden scenes, and flow ry fields, 
To all the worlds that fancy builds, 

And all that poets know. 
Now the swift transports of the mind 
Leave the fluttering muse behind, 
A thousand loose Pindaric plumes fly scatt ring 
down the wind. 
Amongst the clouds I lose my breath, 

The rapture grows too strong : 
The feeble pow'rs that nature gave 
Faint, and drop downward to the grave ; 
Receive their fall, thou treasurer of death ; 
"1 will no more demand my tongue, 
Till the gross organ well refin'd 
Can trace the boundless flights of an unfetter'd mind* 
And raise an equal song. 



The following Poems of this Book are peculiarly dedi- 
cated to Divine Love.* 

THE HAZARD OF LOVING THE CREATURES. 

VV here-e'er my fluttering passions rove, 

I find a lurking snare ; 
Tis dangerous to let loose our love 

Beneath th' Eternal Fair. 



* Different ages have their different airs and fashions 
of writing. It was much more the fashion of the age, 
when these poems were written, to treat of Divine sub- 
jects in the style of Solomon's Song than it is at this day, 
which will afford some apology for the writer in his 
younger years. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION". 93 

Souls whom the tye of friendship binds, 

And partners of our blood, 
Seize a large portion of our minds, 

And leave the less for God. 

Nature has soft but powerful bands, 

And reason she controuls ; 
While children with their little hands 

Hang closest to our souls. 

Thoughtless they act th 1 Old Serpent's part ; 

What tempting things they be ! 
Lord, how they twine about our heart, 

And draw it off from thee ! 

Our hasty wills rush blindly on 

Where rising passion rolls, 
And thus we make our fetters strong 

To bind our slavish souls. 

Dear Sovereign, break these fetters off, 

And set our spirits free \ 
G od in himself is bliss enough, 

For we have all in thee. 



DESIRING TO LOVE CHRIST. 

Come, let me love : or is my mind 
Harden d to stone, or froze to ice ? 

I see the blessed Fair One bend 
And stoop t' embrace me from the skies ! 



94 LYRIC POEMS, bc 

! 'tis a thought would melt a rock, 
And make a heart of iron move, 

That those sweet lips, that heavenly look, 
Should seek and wish a mortal love ! 

1 was a traitor doom'd to fire, 

Bound to sustain eternal pains ; 
He flew on wings of strong desire, 
Assum'd my guilt, and took my chains. 

Infinite Grace I Almighty Charms ! 

Stand in amaze, ye whirling skies, 
Jesus the God, with naked arms, 

Hangs on a cross of love, and dies. 

Did pity ever stoop so low, 

Dress' d in divinity and blood ? 
Was ever rebel courted so 

In groans of an expiring God > 

Again he lives ; and spreads his hands, 
Hands that were naiFd to tort 1 ring smart ; 

By these dear wounds, says he ; and stands 
And prays to clasp me to his heart. 

Sure I must love ; or are my ears 

Still deaf, nor will my passions move ? 

Then let me melt this heart to tears; 
This heart shall yield to death or love. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 95 



THE HEART GIVEN AWAY* 



If there are passions in my soul, 
(And passions sure there be) 

Now they are all at thy controul, 
My Jesus, all for thee. 

If love, that pleasing power, can rest 

In hearts so hard as mine, 
Come, gentle Saviour, to my breast, 

For all my love is thine. 

Let the gay world, with treacherous art, 

Allure my eyes in vain : 
I have convey'd away my heart, 

Ne'er to return again. 

I feel my warmest passions dead 
To all that earth can boast ; 

This soul of mine was never made 
For vanity and lust. 

Now I can fix my thoughts above, 
Amidst their flatt'ring charms, 

Till the dear Lord that hath my love 
Shall call me to his arms. 

So Gabriel at his King's command, 

From yon celestial hill, 
Flies downward to our worthless land, 

His soul points upward still 



96 LYRIC POEMS, 

He glides along by mortal things, 
Without a tnought of love, 

Fulfils his task, and spreads his wings 
To reach the realms above. 



MEDITATION IN A GROVE. 

Sweet muse, descend and bless the shade, 

And bless the evening grove ; 
Business, and noise, and day are fled, 

And every care, but love. 

But hence, ye wanton young and fair, 

Mine is a purer flame ; 
No Phillis shall infect the air, 

With her unhallowed name. 

Jesus has all my powers possest, 

My hopes, my fears, my jo} T s : 
He, the dear Sovereign of my breast, 

Shall still command my voice. 

Some of the fairest choirs above 

Shall flock around my song, 
With joy to hear the name they love 

Sound from a mortal tongue. 

His charms shall make my numbers flow, 

And hold the falling floods, 
While silence sits on every bough, 

And bends the list'ning woods. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 9? 

I'll carve our passion on the bark, 

And every wounded tree 
Shall drop and bear some mystic mark 

That Jesus dy'd for me. 

The swains shall wonder when they read, 

Inscrib d on all the grove, 
That Heaven itself came down, and bled 

To win a mortal's love. 



THE FAIREST AND THE ONLY EELOVED, 

Honour to that diviner ray 
That first allur'd my eyes away 

From every mortal fair; 
All the gay things that held my sight 
Seem but the twinkling sparks of night, 
And languishing in doubtful light 

Die at the morning-star. 

"Whatever speaks the Godhead great, 

And fit to be ador d, 
Whatever makes the creature sweet, 
And worthy of my passion, meet 

Harmonious in my Lord. 
A thousand graces ever rise 

And bloom upon his face 5 
A thousand arrows from his eyes 
Shoot thro 1 my heart with dear surprize, 

And guard around the place. 
h 



n LYRIC POEMS, 

All nature's art shall never cure 

The heavenly pains I found, 
And 'tis beyond all beauty's power 
To make another wound : 
Earthly beauties grow and fade ; 
Nature heals the wounds she made, 
But charms so much divine 
Hold a long empire of the heart ; 
What heaven has join'd shall never part, 
And Jesus must be mine. 

In vain the envious shades of night, 

Or flatteries of the day- 
Would veil his image from my sight, 

Or tempt my soul away ; 
Jesus is all my waking theme, 
His lovely form meets every dream 

And knows not to depart : 
The passion reigns 
Thro' all my veins, 
And floating round the crimson stream, 

Still finds him at my heart. 

Dwell there, for ever dwell, my love ; 

Here I confine my sense ; 
Nor dare my wildest wishes rove 

Nor stir a thought from thence. 
Amidst thy glories and thy grace 
Let all my remnant minutes pass ; 

Grant, thou Everlasting Fair, 

Grant my soul a mansion there : 
My soul aspires to see thy face 
Tho' life should for the vision pay ; 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 9§ 

So rivers run to meet the sea, 

And lose their nature in th' embrace. 

Thou art my ocean, thou my God ! 
In thee the passions of the mind 
With joys and freedom unconfin d 
Exult, and spread their powers abroad. 
Not all the glittering things on high 
Can make my heaven, if thou remove j 
I shall be tird and long to die ; 
Life is a pain without thy love ; 

Who could ever bear to be 

Curst with immortality 
Among the stars, but far from thee ? 



MUTUAL LOVE STRONGER THAN DEATH, 

Not the rich world of minds above 
Can pay the mighty debt of love 

I owe to Christ my God : 
With pangs which none but he could feel 
He brought my guilty soul from hell : 
Not the first Seraph's tongue can tell 

The value of his blood. 

Kindly he seiz'd me in his arms, 

From the false world's pernicious charms 

With force divinely sweet. 
Had T ten thousand lives my own, 
At his demand, 
With chearful hand, 
H2 



100 LYRIC POEMS. 

I'd pay the vital treasure down 
In hourly tributes at his feet. 

But Saviour, let me taste thy grace 

With every fleeting breath : 
And thro' that heaven of pleasure pass 

To the cold arms of death ; 
Then I could lose successive souls 

Fast as the minutes fly ; 
So billow after billow rolls 

To kiss the shore, and die. 



A SIGHT OF CHRIST. 



The substance of the following Copy, and many of the 
Lines, were sent me by an esteemed friend, Mr W. 
Nokes, wiih a desire that I would form them into a 
Pindaric Ode ; but I retained his measures, lest I 
should too much alter his sense. 

Angels of light, your God and King surround 

With noble songs 3 in his exalted flesh 

He claims your worship; while his saints on earth, 

Bless their Redeemer-God with humble tongues, 

Angels with lofty honours crown his head ; 

We bowing at his feet, by faith, may feel 

His distant influence, and confess his love. 

Once I beheld his face, when beams divine 
Broke from his eye-lids, and unusual light 
Wrapt me at once in glory and surprize. 
My joyful heart high leaping in my breast 
With transport cry'd, This is the Christ of God-, 



SACRED TO DEVOTION; 101 

Then threw my arms around in sweet embrace, 
And clasp'd, and bow'd adoring low, till I was 
lost in him. 

While he appears, no other charms can hold 
X)r draw my soul, asham'd of former things, 
Which no remembrance now deserve or name, 
Tho' with contempt ; best in oblivion hid. 

But the bright shine and presence soon withdrew ; 
I sought him whom I love, but found him not ; 
I felt his absence ; and with strongest cries 
Proclaim'd, Where Jesus is not, all is vain. 
Whether I hold him with a full delight, 
Or seek him panting with extreme desire, 
'Tis he alone can please my wond 'ring soul ; 
To hold or seek him is my only choice. 
If he refrain .on me to cast his eye 
Down from his palace, nor my longing soul 
With upward look can spy my dearest Lord 
Thro' his blue pavement, 111 behold him still 
With sweet reflection on the peaceful cross, 
All in his blood and anguish groaning deep, 

Gasping and dying there. 

This sight I ne'er can lose, by it I live : 
A quick'ning virtue from his death inspir'd 
Is life and breath to me ; his flesh my food \ 
His vital blood I drink, and hence my strength. 

I live, I'm strong, and now eternal life 
Beats quick within my breast ; my vigorous mind 
Spurns the dull earth, and on her fiery wings 
Reaches the mount of purposes divine, 



102 LYRIC POEMS, book i, 

Counsels of peace betwixt th' Almighty Three 

Conceived at once, and sign'd without debate, 

In perfect union of th' eternal mind. 

With vast amaze I see the unfathom'd thoughts, 

Infinite schemes, and infinite designs 

Of God's own heart, in which he ever rests. 

Eternity lies open to my view ; 

Here the beginning and the end of all 

I can discover ; Christ the end of all, 

And Christ the great beginning; he my head, 

My God, my Glory, and my All in All. 

O that the day, the joyful day were come, 
When the first Adam from his ancient dust 
Crown'd with new honours shall revive, and see 
Jesus his Son and Lord; while shouting saints 
Surround their King, and God's eternal Son 
Shines in the midst, but with superior beams, 
And like himself: Then the m) T stenous word 
Long hid behind the letter, shall appear 
All spirit and life, and in the fullest light 
Stand forth to public view ; and there disclose 
His Father's sacred works, and wondrous ways : 
Then wisdom, righteousness, and grace divine, 
Thro' all the infinite transactions past, 
Inwrought and shining, shall with double blaze 
Strike our astonish'd eyes, and ever reign 
Admir'd and glorious in triumphant light 

Death, and the Tempter, and the Man of Sin 
Now at the bar arraignd, in judgment cast, 
Shall vex the saints no more : but perfect love 
And loudest praises perfect joy create, 
While ever-circling vears maintain the blissful state. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 103 



LOVE ON A CROSS, AND A THRONE. 

Now let my faith grow strong, and rise, 
And view my Lord in all his love j 

Look back to hear his dying cries, 
Then mount and see his throne above. 

See where he languish' d on the cross, 
Beneath my sins he groan'd and dy'd ; 

See where he sits to plead my cause 
By his Almighty Father's side. 

If I behold his bleeding heart, 

There love in floods of sorrow reigns, 

He triumphs o'er the killing smart, 
And buys my pleasure with his pains. 

Or if I climb th' eternal hills 

Where the dear Conqueror sits enthroned, 
Still in his heart compassion dwells, 

Near the memorials of his wound. 

How shall a pardon'd rebel show 
How much I love my dying God > 

Lord, here I banish every foe, 
I hate the sins that cost thy blood. 

I hold no more commerce with hell, 
My dearest lusts shall all depart ; 

But let thine image ever dwell 
Stampt as a seal upon my heart. 



104 LYRIC POEMS. boof 

A PREPARATORY THOUGHT FOR THE 
LORD'S SUPPER. 

In imitation of Isaiah lxiii. 1,2, 3. 

What heavenly Man, or lovely God, 

Comes marching downward from the skies, 

Array' d in garments roll'd in blood, 
With joy and pity in his eyes ? 

The Lord ! the Saviour ! yes, 'tis he, 
I know him by the smiles he wears : 

Dear glorious Man that dy'd for me, 
Drench'd deep in agonies and tears ! 

Lo, he reveals his shining breast ; 

1 own those wounds, and I adore : 
Lo, he prepares a royal feast, 

Sweet fruit of the sharp pangs he bore ! 

Whence flow these favours so divine ! 

Lord ! why so lavish of thy blood ? 
Why for such earthly souls as mine, 

This heav'nly flesh, this sacred food ? 

Twas his own love that made him bleed, 
That nail'd him to the cursed tree ; 

*Twas his own love this table spread 
For such unworthy worms as we. 

Then let us taste the Saviour's love, 
Come, faith, and feed upon the Lord: 

With glad consent our lips shall move 
And sweet Hcsannas crown the board. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 105 

CONVERSE WITH CHRIST. 

I'm tir'd with visits, modes, and forms, 
And flatteries paid to fellow- worms : 

Their conversation cloys ; 
Their vain amours, and empty stuff: 
But I can ne'er enjoy enough 
Of thy blest company, my Lord, thou life of all 
my joys. 

When he begins to tell his love, 
Through every vein my passions move, 

The captives of his tongue : 
In midnight shades, on frosty ground, 
I could attend the pleasing sound, 
Nor should I feel December cold, nor think the 
darkness long. 

There, while I hear my Saviour God 
Count o'er the sins (a heavy load) 

He bore upon the tree, 
Inward I blush with secret shame, 
And weep, and love, and bless the name 
That knew not guilt nor grief his own, but bare 
it all for me. 

Next he describes the thorns he wore, 
And talks his bloody passion o'er, 

Till I am drown d in tears : 
Yet with the sympathetic smart 
There's a strange joy beats round my heart ! 
The cursed tree has blessings in't, my sweetest 
balm it bears, 



106 LYRIC POEMS. book i. 

I hear the glorious sufferer tell, 
How on his cross he vanquish'd hell, 

And all the powers beneath : 
Transported and inspird, my tongue 
Attempts his triumphs in a song ; 
u How has the Serpent lost his sting, and where's. 
thy victory, Death ?" 

But when he shews his hands and heart, 
With those dear prints of dying smart, 

He sets my soul on fire : 
Not the beloved John could rest 
With more delight upon that breast, 
Nor Thomas pry into those wounds with more 
intense desire. 

Kindly he opens me his ear, 

And bids me pour my sorrows there, 

And tell him all my pains : 
Thus while I ease my burden'd heart, 
In every woe he bears a part, 
His arms embrace me, and his hand my drooping 
head sustains. 

Fly from my thoughts, all human things, 
And sporting swains, and fighting kings, 

And tales of wanton love : 
My soul disdains that little snare 
The tangles of Amira s hair ; 
Thine arms, my God, are sweeter bands, nor can 
my heart remove. 



SACRED TO DEYOTION. 10j 

GRACE SHINING, AND NATURE FAINTING. 
Solomon's Song^ i. 3. and ii. 5. and vi, 5. 

Tell me, fairest of thy kind, 
Tell me, Shepherd, all divine, 
Where this fainting head reclin'd 
May relieve such cares as mine : 

Shepherd, lead me to thy grove ; 
If burning noon infect the sky 
The sick'ning sheep to covert fly, 
The sheep not half so faint as I, 

Thus overcome with love. 

Say, thou dear Sovereign of my breast, 
Where dost thou'lead thy flock to rest: 

W T hy should I appear like one 

Wild and wand'ring all alone, 

Unbeloved and unknown ? 

O my Great Redeemer, say, 

Shall I turn my feet astray I 
Will Jesus bear to see me rove, 
To see me seek another love ? 

Ne'er had I known his dearest name, 
Neer had I felt his inward flame, 
Had not his heart-strings first began the tender 
sound : 
Nor can I bear the thought, that he 
Should leave the sky, 
Should bleed and die, 
Should love a wretch so vile as me 
Without returns of passion for his dying wound. 



108 LYRIC POEMS, boo* i 

His eyes are glory mix'd with grace ; 
In his delightful awful face 
Sits majesty and gentleness. 
So tender is my bleeding heart 

That with a frown he kills ; 
His absence is perpetual smart 
Nor is my soul refind enough 
To bear the beaming of his love, 

And feel his warmer smiles. 
Where shall I rest this drooping head ? 
I love, I love the Sun, and yet I want the shade. 

My sinking spirits feebly strive 

T' endure the ecstasy; 
Beneath these rays I cannot live, 

And yet without them die. 
None knows the pleasure and the pain 
That all my inward powers sustain, 
But such as feel a Saviour's love, and love the 
God again. 

Oh why should beauty heavenly bright 

Stoop to charm a mortal's sight, 
And torture with the sweet excess of light? 

Our hearts, alas ! how frail their make ! 

With their own weight of joy they break, 
O ! why is love so strong, and nature's self so weak? 

Turn, turn away thine eyes, 

Ascend the azure hills, and shine 
Amongst the happy tenants of the skies, 
They can sustain a vision so divine. 

O turn thy lovely glories from me, 
The joys are too intense, the glories overcome me. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 109 

Dear Lord, forgive my rash complaint, 
And love me still 
Against my froward will ; 
Unveil thy beauties, tho' I faint. 
Send the great herald from the sky, 
And at the trumpet's awful roar 
This feeble state of things shall fly, 
And pain and pleasure mix no more : 
Then shall I gaze with strengthen'd sight 
On glories infinitely bright, 

My heart shall all be love, my Jesus all delight. 



LOVE TO CHRIST PRESENT OR ABSENT, 

Of all the joys we mortals know, 
Jesus, thy love exceeds the rest ; 

Love, the best blessing here below, 
And nearest image of the blest. 

Sweet are my thoughts, and soft my cares, 
When the celestial flame I feel ; 

In all my hopes, and all my fears, 

There's something kind and pleasing still. 

While I am held in his embrace 

There's not a thought attempts to rove j 

Each smile lie wears upon his face 
Fixes, and charms, and fires my love. 

He speaks, and straight immortal joys 
Run thro' my ears, and reach my heart j 

My soul all melts at that dear voice, 
And pleasure shoots thro' every part. 



110 LYHIC POEMS, i 

If he withdraw a moment's space, 
He leaves a sacred pledge behind ; 

Here in this breast his image stays, 
The grief and comfort of my mind. 

While of his absence I complain, 
And long, and weep as lovers do, 

There's a strange pleasure in the pain, 
And tears have their own sweetness too, 

When round his courts by day I rove, 
Or ask the watchmen of the night 

For some kind tidings of my love, 
His very name creates delight. 

Jesus, my God ; yet rather come ; 

Mine eyes would dwell upon thy face j 
'Tis best to see my Lord at home, 

And feel the presence of his grace. 



THE AESENCE OF CHRIST. 



Come, lead me to some lofty shade 
Where turtflts moan their loves ; 

Tall shadows were for lovers made ; 
And grief becomes the groves. 

Tis no mean beauty of the ground 
That has enslavd mine eyes'; 

I faint beneath a nobler wound, 
Nor love below the skies. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 1 1 i 

Jesus, the spring of all that's bright, 

The Everlasting Fair, 
Heaven's Ornament, and Heaven's Delight, 

Is my Eternal Care. 

But, ah ! how far above this grove 

Does the bright Charmer dwell ? 
Absence, thou keenest wound to love, 

That sharpest pain, I feel. 

Pensive I climb the sacred hills, 

And near him vent my woes ; 
Yet his sweet face he still conceals, 

Yet still my passion grows. 

I murmur to the hollow vale, 

I tell the rocks my flame, 
And bless the echo in her cell 

That best repeats his name. 

My passion breathes perpetual sighs, 

Till pitying winds shall hear, 
And gently bear them up the skies, 

And gently wound his ear. 



DESIRING HIS DESCENT TO EARTH. 

Jesus, I love. Come, dearest name, 
Come and possess this heart of mine ; 

I love, tho' 'tis a fainter flame, 
And infinitely less than thine. 



llf LYRIC POEMS, bog 

O ! if my Lord would leave the skies, 
Drest in the rays of mildest grace, 

My soul should hasten to my eyes 
To meet the pleasures of his face. 

How would I feast on all his charms, 
Then round his lovely feet entwine ! 

Worship and love, in all their forms, 
Should honour beauty so divine. 

In vain the tempter's flatt'ring tongue, 
The world in vain shall bid me move, 

In vain ; for I should gaze so long 
Till I were all transform'd to love. 

Then, mighty God ! I'd sing and say, 

" What empty names are crowns and kings I 

" Amongst 'em give these worlds away, 
u These little despicable things/' 

I would not ask to climb the sky, 

Nor envy angels their abode, 
I have a heaven as bright and high 

In the blest vision of my God. 



ASCENDING TO HIM IN HEAVEN. 

lis pure delight, without alloy, 
Jesus, to hear thy name, 
My spirit leaps with inward joy, 
I feel the sacred flame. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 113 

My passions hold a pleasing reign, 

While love inspires my breast, 
Love, the divinest of the train, 

The Sovereign of the rest. 

This is the grace must live and sing, 

When faith and fear shall cease, 
Must sound from every joyful string 

Thro* the sweet groves of bliss. 

Let life immortal seize my clay ; 

Let love refine my blood ; 
Her flames can bear my soul away, 

Can bring me near my God. 

Swift I ascend the heavenly place, 

And hasten to my home, 
I leap to meet thy kind embrace, 

I come, O Lord, I come. 

Sink down, ye separating hills, 

Let guilt and death remove, 
Tis love that drives my chariot-wheels, 

And death must vield to love. 



THE PRESENCE OF GOD WORTH DYING FOR. 
OR, THE DEATH OF MOSES. 



Lord, 'tis an infinite delight 

To see thy lovely face, 
To dwell whole ages in thy sight, 

And feel thy vital rays. 



1U LYRIC POEMS, book 

This Gabriel knows ; and sings thy name 

With rapture on his tongue ; 
Moses the saint enjoys the same, 

And heaven repeats the song. 

While the bright nation sounds thy praise 

From each eternal hill, 
Sweet odours of exhaling grace 

The happy region fill. 

Thy love, a sea without a shore, 

Spreads life and joy abroad: 
O 'tis a heaven worth dying for 

To see a smiling God ! 

Shew me thy face, and I'll away 

From all inferior things; 
Speak, Lord, and here I quit my clay, 

And stretch my airy wings. 

Sweet was the journey to the sky 

The wondrous prophet try'd ; 
" Climb up the mount," says God, " and die;" 

The prophet climb' d and dy'd. 

Softly his fainting head he lay 

Upon his Makers breast, 
His Maker kissd his soul away, 

And laid his flesh to rest. 

In God's own arms he left the breath 

That God's own Spirit gave ; 
His was the noblest road to death, 

And his the sweetest grave. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 115 



LONGING FOR HIS RETURN. 

O 'twas a mournful parting day ! 

" Farewel, my Spouse," he said ; 
(How tedious, Lord, is thy delay ! 

How long my Love hath staid !) 

Farewel ! at once he left the ground, 
And climb' d his Father's sky ; 

Lord, I would tempt thy chariot down, 
Or leap to thee on high. 

Round the creation wild I rove, 
And search the globe in vain ; 

There's nothing here that's worth my lovf 
Till thou return again. 

My passions fly to seek their King, 
And send their groans abroad, 

They beat the air with heavy wing, 
And mourn an absent God. 

With inward pain my heart-strings sound, 

My soul dissolves away ; 
Dear Sovereign, whirl the seasons round, 

And bring the promisd day. 



HOPE IN DARKNESS. 
1694. 

Y et, gracious God, 

Yet will I seek thy smiling face ; 



116 LYRIC POEMS, book 

What tho t a short eclipse his beauties shroud 

And bar the influence of his rays, 
Tis but a morning vapour, or a summer cloud : 
He is my Sun tho' he refuse to shine, 

Tho' for a moment he depart 

7 dwell for ever on his heart, 

For ever he on mine. 

Early before the light arise 

I'll spring a thought away to God ; 

The passion of my heart and eyes 

Shall shout a thousand groans and sighs, 

A thousand glances strike the skies, 
The floor of his abode. 

Dear Sovereign, hear thy servant pray, 
Bend the blue heavens, Eternal King, 
Downward thy chearful graces bring ; 

Or shall 1 breathe in vain, and pant my hours away ? 

Break, glorious Brightness, thro' the gloomy veil, 
Look how the armies of despair 
Aloft their sooty banners rear 
Round my poor captive soul, and dare 
Pronounce me prisoner of hell. 
But Thou, my Sun, and Thou, my Shield, 
Wilt save me in the bloody field; 

Break, glorious Brightness, shoot one glimmering 
ray, 
One glance of thine creates a day, 
And drives the troops of hell away. 

Happy the times, but ah 1 those times are gone 
When wondrous power and radiant grace 

Round the tall arches of the temple shone, 
And mingled their victorious rays : 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 1 17 

Sin, with all its ghastly train, 
Fled to the deeps of death again, 
And smiling triumph sat on every face : 
Our spirits raptur'd with the sight, 
Were all devotion, all delight, 
And loud Hosannas sounded the Redeemer's 
praise. 
Here could I say, 
(And point the place whereon I stood) 
Here I enjoy'd a visit half the day 
From my descending God : 
I was regal' d with heavenly fare, 
With fruit and manna from above ; 
Divinely sweet the blessings were 
While my Emmanuel was there : 
And o'er my head 
The Conqueror spread 
The banner of his love. 

Then why my heart sunk down so low ? 
Why do my eyes dissolve and flow, 

And hopeless nature mourn ? 
Review, my soul, those pleasing days, 
Read his unalterable grace 
Thro' the displeasure of his face, 

And wait a kind return. 
A father's love may raise a frown 
To chide the child, or prove the son> 

But love will ne'er destroy ; 
The hour of darkness is but short, 
Faith be thy life, and patience thy support, 

The morning brings the joy. 



118 LYRIC POEMS. 



COME, LORD JESUS. 



When shall thy lovely face be seen? 

When shall our eyes behold our God ? 
What lengths of distance lie between, 

And hills of guilt ? a heavy load ! 

Our months are ages of delay, 
And slowly every minute wears : 

Fly, winged time, and roll away 

These tedious rounds of sluggish years. 

Ye heavenly gates, loose all your chains, 

Let the eternal pillars bow ; 
Blest Saviour, cleave the starry plains, 

And make the crystal mountains flow. 

Hark, how thy saints unite their cries, 
And pray and wait the general doom ; 

Come Thou, the Soul of all our joys, 
Thou, the Desire of nations, come. 

Put thy bright robes of triumph on, 
And bless our eyes, and bless our ears, 

Thou absent Love, thou dear Unknown, 
Thou Fairest of ten thousand fairs. 

Our heart-strings groan with deep complaint, 

Our flesh lies panting, Lord, for thee ; 
And every limb, and every joint, 

Stretches for immortality. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 119 

Our spirits shake their eager wings, 
And burn to meet thy flying throne -> 

We rise away from mortal things 
T' attend thy shining chariot down. 

Now let our chearful eyes survey 
The blazing earth and melting hills, 

And smile to see the lightnings play, 
And flash along before thy wheels. 

O for a shout of violent joys 

To join the trumpet's thundering sound ! 
The angel herald shakes the skies, 

Awakes the graves, and tears the ground. 

Ye slumb'ring saints, a heavenly host 
Stands waiting at your gaping tombs 5 

Let every sacred sleeping dust 
Leap into life, for Jesus comes. 

Jesus, the God of might and love, 

New-moulds our limbs of cumb'rous clay > 

Quick as seraphic flames we move, 
Active and young, and fair as they. 

Our airy feet with unknown flight 

Swift as the motions of desire, 
Run up the hills of heavenly light, 

And leave the welfring world in fire. 



ISO LYRIC POEMS, 



BEWAILING MY OWN INCONSTANCY. 

T / 

I love the Lord; but ah ! how far 
My thoughts from the dear object are ! 
This wanton heart, how wide it roves ! 
And fancy meets a thousand loves. 

If my soul burn to see my God, 
I tread the courts of his abode, 
But troops of rivals throng the place 
And tempt me off before his face. 

Would I enjoy my Lord alone, 
I bid my passions all be gone, 
All but my love ; and charge my will 
To bar the door and guard it still. 

But cares, or trifles, make, or find, 
Still new avenues to the mind, 
Till I with grief and wonder see, 
Huge crowds betwixt the Lord and me. 

Oft I am told the muse will prove 
A friend to piety and love; 
Strait I begin some sacred song, 
And take my Saviour on my tongue. 

Strangely 1 lose his lovely face, 
To hold the ^mpty sounds in chase; 
At best the r mes divide my heart, 
And the muse shares the larger part 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 121 

False confident ! and falser breast ! 
Fickle, and fond of every guest : 
Each airy image as it flies 
Here finds admittance thro' my eyes. 

This foolish hea^t can leave her God, 
And shadows tempt her thoughts abroad : 
How shall I fix this wand' ring mind ? 
Or throw my fetters on the wind ? 

Look gently down, Almighty Grace> 
Prison me round in thine embrace ; 
Pity the soul that would be thine, 
And let thy power my love confine. 

Say, when shall that bright moment be 
That I shall live alone for thee, 
My heart no foreign lords adore, 
And the wild muse prove false no more ? 



FORSAKEN, VET HOPING. 

Happy the hours, the golden days, 
When I could call my Jesus mine, 

And sit and view his smiling face, 
And melt in pleasures all divine. 

Near to my heart, within my arms 
He lay, till sin defil'd my breast, 

Till broken vows, and earthly charms, 
Tir'd and provok'd my heavenly guest. 



m LYRIC POEMS, book i 

And now He's gone, (O mighty woe !) 
Gone from my soul, and hides his love ! 

Curse on you, sins, that griev'd him so, 
Ye sins, that forcd him to remove. 

Break, break, my heart ; complain, my tongue ; 

Hither, my friends, your sorrows bring : 
Angels, assist my doleful song, 

If you have e'er a mourning string. ~> 

But ah ! your joys are ever high, 

Ever his lovely face you see ; 
While my poor spirits pant and die, 

And groan, for Thee, my God, for Thee. 

Yet let my hope look thro' my tears, 

And spy afar his rolling throne ; 
His chariot thro' the cleaving spheres 

Shall bring the bright Beloved down. 

Swift as a roe flies o'er the hills, 

My soul springs out to meet him high, 

Then the fair Conqueror turns his wheels, 
And climbs the mansions of the sky, 

There smiling joy for ever reigns 
No more the turtle leaves the dove ; 

Farewel to jealousies, and pains, 
And all the ills of absent love. 



SACRED TO DEVOTION 123 



The CONCLUSION. 



GOD EXALTED ABOVE ALL PRAISE. 

Eternal Power ! whose high abode 
Becomes the grandeur of a God; 
Infinite length beyond the bounds 
Where stars revolve their little rounds. 

The lowest step above thy seat 

Rises too high for Gabriel's feet, 

In vain the tall arch- angel tries 

To reach thine height with wond'ring eyes. 

Thy dazzling beauties whilst he sings 
He hides his face behind his wings ; 
And ranks of shining thrones around 
Fall worshipping, and spread the ground. 

Lord, what shall earth and ashes do ? 
We would adore our maker too ; 
From sin and dust to thee we cry, 
" The Great, the Holy, and the High P 

Earth from afar has heard thy fame, 
And worms have learnt to lisp thy name ; 
But O, the glories of thy mind 
Leave all our soaring thoughts behind. 



124 LYRIC POEMS. 

God is in heaven, and men below ; 
Be short, our tunes > our words be few ; 
A sacred reverence checks our songs, 
And praise sits silent on our tongues* 



END OF BOOK I. 



Tibi siletj O Deus. Psal, Ixv. ]. 



HOILE LYRICtE. 



BOOK II. 

SACRED TO 

VIRTUE, HONOUR, AND FRIENDSHIP. 



TO HER MAJESTY. 

QUEEN of the Northern world whose gentle 
sway 
Commands our love, and charms our hearts t' obey, 
Forgive the nation s groan when William dy'd : 
Lo, at thy feet in all the loyal pride 
Of blooming joy, three happy realms appear* 
And William's urn almost without a tear 
Stands ; nor complains : while from thy gracious 

tongue 
Peace flows in silver streams amidst the throng. 
Amazing balm, that on those lips was found 
To sooth the torment of that mortal wound, 
And calm the wild affright ! The terror dies, 
The bleeding wound cements, the danger flies, 
And Albion shouts thine honours as her joys arise. 

The German eagle feels her guardian dead, 
Not her own thunder can secure her head y 



126 LYRIC POEMS, book it. 

Her trembling eaglets hasten from afar, 
And Belgias lion dreads the Gallic war : 
All hide behind thy shield. Remoter lands 
Whose lives lay trusted in Nassovian hands, 
Transfer their souls, and live ; secure they play 
In thy mild rays, and love the growing day. 

Thy beamy wing at once defends and warms 
Fainting religion, whilst in various forms 
Fair piety shines thro' the British isles : 
Here at thy side, and in thy kindest smiles* 
Blazing in ornamental gold she stands, 
To bless thy councils, and assist thy hands, 
And crowds wait round her to receive com- 

mands. 
There, at a humble distance from the thronef, 
Beauteous she lies ; her lustre all her own, 
Ungarnisfrd ; yet not blushing, nor afraid, 
Nor knows suspicion, nor affects the shade : 
Chearful and pleas'd, she not presumes to share 
In thy parental gifts, but owns thy guardian 

care. 
For thee, dear Sovereign, endless vows arise, 
And zeal, with earthly wing, salutes the skies 
To gairi thy safety : here a sclemn form* 
Of ancient words keeps the devotion warm, 
And guides, but bounds our wishes : there the 

mindf 
Feels its own fire, and kindles, unconfind, 



* The Established Church of England. 
t The Protestant Dissenters. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 127 

With bolder hopes : yet still beyond our vows, 
Thy lovely glories rise, thy spreading terror 
grows. 

Princess, the world already owns thy name : 
Go, mount the chariot of immortal fame, 
Nor die to be renown d : Fame's loudest breath 
Too dear is purchas'd by an angel's death. 
The vengeance of thy rod, with general jo) r , 
Shall scourge rebellion and the rival boy* : 
Thy sounding arms his Gallic patron hears 
And speeds his flight ; nor overtakes his fears, 
Till hard despair wring from the tyrant's soul 
The iron tears out. Let thy frown controul 
Our angry jars at home, till wrath submit 
Her impious banners to thy sacred feet. 
Mad zeal, and frenzy, with their murd'rous train, 
Flee these sweet realms in thine auspicious reign, 
Envy expire in rage, and Treason bite the chain. 

Let no black scenes affright fair Albion s stage: 
Thy thread of life prolong our golden age, 
Long bless the earth, and late ascend thy throne 
Ethereal; (not thy deeds are there unknown, 
Nor there unsung ; for, by thine awful hands, 
Heaven rules the waves, and thunders o'er the 

lands, 
Creates inferior kingsf, and gives them their 

commands.) 

* The Pretender. 

t She made Charles the emperor's second son king of 
Spain, who is now emperor of Germany. 



128 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

Legions attend thee at the radiant gates ; 
For thee thy sister-seraph, blest Maria, waits. 

But oh ! the parting stroke ! some heavenly 
power > 

Chear thy sad Britons in the gloomy hour ; 
Some new propitious star appear on high 
The fairest glory of the western sky, 
And Anna be its name ; with gentle sway 
To check the planets of malignant ra} r , 
Sooth the rude north wind, and the rugged bear, 
Calm rising wars, heal the contagious air, 
And reign with peaceful influence to the south- 
ern sphere. . 



Note, This poem was written in the year 1705, in 
that honourable part of the reign of our late queen, 
when she had broke the French power at Blenheim, as- 
serted the right of Charles, the present emperor, to the 
crown of Spain, exerted her zeal for the protestant suc- 
cession, and promised, inviolably, to maintain the to- 
leration to the protestant dissenters. Thus she appeared 
the chief support of the reformation, and the patroness 
of the liberties of Europe. 

The latter part of her reign was of a different colour, 
and was by no means attended with the accomplishment 
of those glorious hopes which we had conceived. Now 
the Muse cannot satisfy herself to publish this new edi- 
tion without acknowledging .the mistake of her former 
presages ; and while she does the world this justice, she 
does herself the honour of a voluntary retraction. 
August I, 1721. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &x. 3 ?9 



PALINOBIA. 

Britons, forgive the forward Muse 
That dar d prophetic seals to loose, 
(Unskilled in Fate's eternal book) 
And the deep characters mistook. 

George is the name, that glorious star ; 
Ye saw his splendors beaming far ; 
Saw, in the -East, your joys arise, 
When Anna sunk in Western skies, 
Streaking the heavens with crimson gloom, 
Emblems of Tyranny and Rome, 
Portending blood and night to come. 
'Twas George difTusd a vital ray, 
And gave the dying nations day : 
His influence sooths the Russian bear, 
Calms rising wars, and heals the air ; 
Join'd with the sun his beams are hurTd 
To scatter blessings round the world, 
Fulfil whatever the muse has spoke, 
And crown the work that Anne forsook. 

Aug. 1, 1712. 



TO JOHN LOCK, Esq. 

Retired from Business. 

Angels are made of heavenly things 
And light and love our souls compose, 
Their bliss within their bosom springs, 
Within their bosom flows. 

K 



130 LYRIC POEMS. 

But narrow minds still make pretence 
To search the coasts of flesh and sense, 
And fetch diviner pleasures thence. 
Men are akin to ethereal forms, 
But they helve their nobler birth, 
Debase their honour down to earth, 

And claim a share with worms. 

He that has treasures of his own 
May leave the cottage or the throne, 
May quit the globe, and dwell alone 

Within his spacious mind. 
Locke hath a soul wide as the sea, 
Calm as the night, bright as the day, 
There may his vast ideas play, 

Nor feel a thought confind. 



TO 

JOHN SHUTE, Esq, 

(now lord barrington) 

On Mr. Locke's dangerous Sickness, some time after 
he had retired to study the Scriptures. 

June, 1704. 

And must the man of wondrous mind 
(Now his rich thoughts are just refind) 

Forsake our longing eyes ? 
Reason, at length submits to wear 
The wings of Faith; and lo, they rear 
Her chariot high, and nobly bear 

Her prophet to the skies. 



SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 131 

Go, friend, and wait the prophet's flight, 
Watch if his mantle chance to light, 

And seize it for thy own ; 
Shute is the darling of his years, 
Young Shute his better likeness bears; 
All but his wrinkles and his hairs 

Are copy'd in his son. 

Thus when our follies or our faults, 
Call for the pity of thy thoughts, 

Thy pen shall make us wise : 
The sallies of whose youthful wit 
Could pierce the British fogs with light, 
Place our true * interest in our sight, 

And open half our eyes. 



TO MR. WILLIAM NOKES, 

FRIENDSHIP. 
1702. 

Friendship, thou charmer of the mind, 

Thou sweet deluding ill, 
The brightest minute mortals find, 

And sharpest hour we feel. 

Fate has divided all our shares 

Of pleasure and of pain ; 
In love the comforts and the cares 

Are mix'd and joind again. 



* The Interest of England, written by I. S. Esq. 
K 2 



132 LYRIC POEMS, 

But whilst in floods our sorrow rolls, 

And drops of joy are few, 
This dear delight of mingling souls 

Serves but to swell our woe. 

Oh ! why should bliss depart in haste, 
And friendship stay to moan ? 

Why the fond passion cling so fast, 
When every joy is gone ? 

Yet never let our hearts divide, 
Nor death dissolve the chain : 

For love and joy were once ally'd, 
And must be join d again. 



To NATHANIEL GOULD, Esq, 

1704. 

Tis not by splendour, or by state, 
Exalted mien, or lofty gait, 
My muse takes measure of a king: 
If wealth, or height, or bulk will do, 
She calls each mountain of Peru 

A more majestic thing. 
Frown on me, friend, if e'er I boast 
O'er fellow-minds enslav'd in clay, 
Or swell when I shall have engrost 
A larger heap of shining dust, 
And bear a bigger load of earth than they. 
Let the vain world salute me loud, 
My thoughts look inward, and forget 

The sounding names of high and great, 
Tbe flatteries of the crowd. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &«. 133 

When Gould commands his ships to run 
And search the traffick of the sea, 
His fleet overtakes the falling day, 
And bears the westerns-mines away, 
Or richer spices from the rising sun: 
While the glad tenants of the shore 
Shout and pronounce him Senator*, 

Yet still the man's the same : 
For well the happy merchant knows 
The soul with treasure never grows, 

Nor swells with airy fame. 

But trust me, Gould, 'tis lawful pride 
To rise above the mean controul 
Of flesh and sense, to which we're ty'd ; 
This is ambition that becomes a soul. 
We steer our course up thro' the skies ; 
Farewel this barren land : 
We ken the heavenly shore with longing eyes, 
There the dear wealth of spirits lies, 
And beckoning angels stand. 



TO DR. THOMAS GIBSON. 

THE LIFE OF SOULS. 
1704. 

Owift as the sun revolves the day, 

We hasten to the dead, 
Slaves to the wind, we puff away, 

And to the ground we tread. 

* Member of Parliament for a port in Sussex. 



134 LYRIC POEMS, bo 

Tis air that lends us life, when first 

The vital bellows heave : 
Our flesh we borrow of the dust ; 
And when a mother's care has nurst 
The babe to manly size, we must 

With usury pay the grave. 

Kich juleps drawn from precious ore 

Still tend the dying flame : 
And plants, and roots, of barbarous name, 

Torn from the Indian shore. 
Tli us we support our tott'ring flesh, 

Our cheeks resume the rose afresh, 
When bark and steel play well their game 

To save our sinking breath, 
And Gibson, with his awful power, 
Rescues the poor precarious hour 
From the demands of death. 

But art and nature, powers and charms, 
And drugs, and recipes, and forms, 
Yield us, at last, to greedy worms 

A despicable prey ; 
I'd have a life to call my own, 
That shall depend on heaven alone ; 

Nor air, nor earth, nor sea 
Mix their base essences with mine, 
Nor claim dominion so divine 

To give me leave to be. 

Sure there's a mind within, that reigns 
O'er the dull current of my veins; 
I feel the inward pulse beat high 
With vig'rous immortality. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, kc. i$5 

X,et earth resume the flesh it gave, 
And breath dissolve amongst the winds ; 
Gibson, the things that fear a grave, 
That I can lose, or you can save, 
Are not akin to minds. 

We claim acquaintance with the skies, 
Upward our spirits hourly rise, 

And there our thoughts employ: 
When Heaven shall sign our grand release, 
We are no strangers to the place, 

The business, or the joy. 



FALSE GREATNESS. 

Mylo, forbear to call him blest 
That only boasts a large estate, 
Should all the treasures of the west 
Meet, and conspire to make him great. 
I know thy better thoughts, I know 
Thy reason can't descend so low. 
Let a broad stream, with golden sands, 

Thro 1 all his meadows roll, 
He's but a wretch, with all his lands, 

That wears a narrow soul. 

He swells amidst his wealthy store, 
And proudly poizing what he weighs, 
In his own scale he fondly lays 

Huge heaps of shining ore. 
He spreads the balance wide to hold 

His manors and his farms, 
And cheats the beam with loads of gold 

He hugs between his arms. 



136 LYRIC POEMS. i 

So might the plough-boy climb a tree, 
When Croesus mounts his throne, 

And both stand up, and smile to see 
How long their shadow's grown. 

Alas ! how vain their fancies be 
To think that shape their own ! 

Thus mingled still with wealth and state, 
Croesus himself can never know ; 
His true dimensions and his weight 
Are far inferior to their show. 
Were I so tail to reach the pole, 
Or grasp the ocean with my span, 
I must be measur'd by my soul: 
The mind's the standard of the man. 



TO-SARISSA. 

AN EPISTLE. 

Lear up, Sarissa, thro' the ruffling storms 
Of a vain vexing world : tread down the cares, 
Those rugged thorns that lie across the road, 
Nor spend a tear upon them. Trust the Muse, 
She sings experienc'd truth : this briny dew, 
This rain of eyes will make the briars grow. 
We travel thro' a desert, and our feet 
Have measur'd a fair space, have left behind 
A thousand dangers, and a thousand snares 
Well 'scap'd. Adieu, ye horrors of the dark, 
Ye finished labours, and ye tedious toils 
Of days and hours : the twinge of real smart, 
And the false terrors of ill-boding dreams 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 187 

Vanish together, be alike forgot, 

For ever blended in one common grave. 

Farewel, ye waxing and ye waning moons, 
That we have watch' d behind the flying clouds 
On Night's dark hill, or setting or ascending, 
Or in meridian height : then silence reign'd 
O'er half the world ; then ye beheld our tears, 
Ye witness'd our complaints, our kindred groans, 
(Sad harmony !) while with your beamy horns 
Or richer orb ye silver'd o'er the green 
Where trod our feet, and lent a feeble light 
To mourners. Now ye have fulfill'd your round, 
Those hours are fled, farewel. Months that are 

gone 
Are gone for ever, and have borne away 
Each his own load. Our woes and sorrows past, 
Mountainous woes, still lessen as they fly 
Far off. So billows in a stormy sea, 
Wave after wave (a long succession) roll 
Beyond the ken of sight : the sailors safe, 
Look far a-stern till they have lost the storm, 
And shout their boisterous joys. A gentler muse 
Sings thy dear safety, and commands thy cares 
To dark oblivion ; bury'd deep in night 
Lose them, Sarissa, and assist my song. 

Awake thy voice, sing how the slender line 
Of Fate's immortal Now divides the past 
From all the future, with eternal bars 
Forbidding a return. The past temptations 
No more shall vex us ; every grief we feel 
Shortens the destin'd number ; every pulse 
Beats a sharp moment of the pain away, 



138 LYRIC POEMS, book ii, 

And the last stroke will come. By swift degrees 
Time sweeps us off, and we shall soon arrive 
At Life's sweet period: O celestial point 
That ends this mortal story ! 

But if a glimpse of light, with flatt'ring ray, 
Breaks thro' the clouds of life, or wandering fire, 
Amidst the shades invite your doubtful feet, 
Beware the dancing meteor; faithless guide, 
That leads the lonesome pilgrim wide astray 
To bogs, and fens, and pits, and certain death ! 
Should vicious pleasure take an angel form 
And at a distance rise, by slow degrees, 
Treacherous, to wind herself into your heart, 
Stand firm aloof; nor let the gaudy phantom 
Too long allure } T our gaze : the just delight 
That heaven indulges lawful must obey 
Superior powers; nor tempt your thoughts too far 
In slavery to sense, nor swell your hope 
To dang'rous size : If it approach your feet, 
And court your hand, forbid th' intruding joy 
To sit too near your heart: Still may our souls 
Claim kindred with the skies, nor mix with dust 
Our better-born affections : leave the globe, 
A nest for worms, and hasten to our home. 

O there are gardens of th' immortal kind, 
That crown the heavenly Eden's rising hills 
With beauty and with sweets; no lurking mischief 
Dwells in the fruit, nor serpent twines the boughs; 
The branches bend laden with life and bliss 
Ripe for the taste, but 'tis a steep ascent : 



SACRED TO DEVOTION. 139 

Hold fast the *golden chain let down from heav'n, 
'Twill help your feet and wings; I feel its force 
Draw upwards ; fasten d to the pearly gate 
It guides the way unerring : Happy clue 
Thro this dark wild! 'Twas Wisdom's noblest 

work, 
All join d by Power Divine, and every link is love. 



TO MR. T. BRADBURY. 

PARADISE. 
1708, 

Young as I am, I quit the stage, 
Nor will I know th' applauses of the age ; 
Farewel to growing fame. I leave below 

A life not half worn out with cares, 
Or agonies, or years ; 

I leave my country all in tears, 
But Heaven demands me upward, and I dare to go. 

Amongst ye. friends, divide and share 
The remnant of my days, 

If ye have patience, and can bear 
A long fatigue of life, and drudge thro' all the 



Hark, my fair guardian chides my stay, 

And waves his golden rod : 
" Angel, I come, lead on the way : ,f 

* The Gospel. 



UO LYRIC POEMS. book n. 

And now by swift degrees 
I sail aloft thro' azure seas, 

Now tread the milky road : 
Farewel, ye planets, in your spheres ; 
And as the stars are lost, a brighter sky appears. 

In haste for Paradise 
I stretch the pinions of a bolder thought : 

Scarce had I will'd, but I was past 
Deserts of trackless light and all th' ethereal waste, 

And to the sacred borders brought; 
There on the wing a guard of cherubs lies, 

Each waves a keen flame as he flies, 
And well defends the walls from sieges and surprize. 

With pleasing rev'rence I behold 
The pearly portals wide unfold : 
Enter, my soul, and view th' amazing scenes ; 
Sit fast upon the flying muse, 
And let thy roving wonder loose 
O'er all th' empyreal plains. 
Noon stands eternal here: here may thy sight 
Drink in the rays of primogenial light ; 
Here breathe immortal air : 
Joy must beat high in ev'ry vein, 
Pleasure thro' all thy bosom reign ; 
The laws forbid that stranger, pain, 
And banish every care. 

See how the bubbling springs of love 

Beneath the throne arise ; 
The streams in crystal channels move, 
Around the golden streets they rove, 
And bless the mansions of the upper skies. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c, Ul 

There a fair grove of knowledge grows, 

Nor sin nor death infects the fruit ; 

Young life hangs fresh on all the boughs, 
And springs from ev'ry root; 

Here may thy greedy senses feast 
While ecstasy and health attends on every taste. 

With the fair prospect charm'd I stood; 
Fearless I feed on the delicious fare, 
And drink profuse Salvation from the Silver Flood, 

Nor can excess be there. 

/ 

In sacred order rang'd along, 

Saints new-releas d by death 
Join the bold Seraph's warbling breath, 

Ajid aid th' immortal song. 
Each has a voice that tunes his strings 
To mighty sounds and mighty things, 

Things of everlasting weight, 
Sounds, like the softer viol, sweet, 

And, like the trumpet, strong. 
Divine attention held my soul, 
I was all ear ! 
Thro' all my powers the heavenly accents roll, 
I long'd and wish'd my Bradbury there ; 
" Could he but hear these notes, I said, 
" His tuneful soul would never bear 
" The dull unwinding of life s tedious thread, 
"But burst the vital chords ' to reach the 
happy dead." 

And now my tongue prepares to join 
The harmony, and with a noble aim 

Attempts th' unutterable name, 
But faints, confounded by the notes divine: 



142 LYRIC POEMS, book it. 

Again my soul th' unequal honour sought, 
Again her utmost force she brought, 

And bow'd beneath the burden of th' unwieldy 
thought. 
Thrice I essay'd, and fainted thrice ; 

Th' immortal labour strain'd my feeble frame, 

Broke the bright vision, and dissolv'd the dreamy 
I sunk at once and lost the skies : 
In vain I sought the scenes of light 
Rolling abroad my longing eyes, 

For all around 'em stood my curtains and the night. 



STRICT RELIGION VERY RARE* 

I'm borne aloft, and leave the crowd, 

I sail upon a morning cloud 

Skirted with dawning gold : 
Mine eyes beneath the opening day 
Command the globe with wide survey, 
Where ants in busy millions play, 

And tug and heave the mould. 

** Are these the things (my passion cry'd) 
** That we call men ? Are these ally'd 

" To the fair worlds of light ? 
*' They have ras'd out their Maker's name, 
•* Grav'n on their minds with pointed flame 

u In strokes divinely bright. 

w Wretches ! they hate their native skies ; 
*' If an ethereal thought arise, 
w Or spark of virtue shine, 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 143 

•* With cruel force they damp its plumes, 
" Choke the young fire with sensual fumes, 
" With business, lust, or wine. 

" Lo ! how they throng with panting breath 

" The broad descending road 
" That leads unerring down to death, 

" Nor miss the dark abode." 
Thus while I drop a tear or two 
On the wild herd, a noble few 
Dare to stray upward, and pursue 

Th' unbeaten way to God. 

I meet Myrtillo mounting high, 
I know his candid soul afar ; 
Here Dorylus and Thyrsis fly 

Each like a rising star, 
Charin I saw and Fidea there, 
I saw them help each other's flight, 

And bless them as they go 5 
They soar beyond my lab'ring sight, 
And leave their loads of mortal care, 

But not their love below. 
On heavn, their home, they fix their eyes, 

The temple of their God : 
With morning incense up they rise 
Sublime, and thro' the lower skies 

Spread their perfumes abroad. 

Across the road a Seraph flew, 
u Mark, (said he) that happy pair, 
" Marriage helps devotion there : 



144 LYRIC POEMS, book 

" When kindred minds their God pursue 
" They break with double vigour thro' 

M The dull incumbent air." 
Charrnd with the pleasure and surprize 

My soul adores and sings, 
" Blest be the pow'r that springs their flight, 
" That streaks their path with heavenly light, 
* That turns their love to sacrifice, 

" And joins their zeal for wings." 



TO MR. C. AND S. FLEETWOOD. 

Fleetwoods, young generous pair, 

Despise the joys that fools pursue - y 

Bubbles are light and brittle too, 

Born of the water and the air. 
Try'd by a standard bold and just 
Honour and gold, and paint and dust ; 

How vile the last is, and as vain the first ! 
Things that the crowd call great and brave, 
With me how low their value's brought ? 
Titles and names, and life and breath, 
Slaves to the wind, and born for death ; 
The soul's the only thing we have 
Worth an important thought. 

The soul ! 'tis of th' immortal kind, 
Nor form'd of fire, or earth, or wind, 
Out-lives the mould'ring corpse, and leaves the 
globe behind. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. *45 

In limbs of clay thcT she appears, 
Array'd in rosy skin, and deck'd with ears and eyes* 

The flesh is but the soul's disguise, 
There's nothing in her frame kin to the dress she 
wears : 

From all the laws of matter free, 

From all we feel, from all we see, 
She stands eternally distinct, and must for ever be. 

Rise then, my thoughts, on high, 
Soar beyond all that's made to die ; 
Lo ! on an awful throne 
Sits the Creator and the Judge of vSouls, 
Whirling the planets round the poles, 
Winds off our threads of life, and brings our 

periods on. 

Swift the approach, and solemn is the day, 

When this immortal mind 

Stript of the body's coarse array 

To endless pain, or endless joy, 

Must be at once consign d. 

Think of the sands run down to waste, 
We possess none of all the past, 
None but the present is our own ; 
Grace is not plac'd within our pow'r, 
Tis but one short, one shining hour, 
Bright and declining as a setting sun. 

See the white minutes wing'd with haste j 
The now that flies may be the last; 
Seize the Salvation ere 'tis past past, 



146 LYRIC POEMS. 

A thought's delay is ruin here, 
A closing eye, a gasping breath 
Shuts up the golden scene in death, 
And drowns you in despair. 



To WILLIAM BLACKBOURN, Esq. 

Casimir, Lib. II. Od. 2. imitated. 

Quae tegit canas modo Bruma vailes, &c. 

Mark how it snows ! how fast the valley fills ! 
And the sweet groves the hoary garments wear; 
Yet the warm sun-heams bounding from the hills 
Shall melt the veil away, and the young green 
appear. 

But when old age has on your temples shed 
Her silver- frost, there's no returning sun; 
Swift flies our autumn, swift our summer's fled, 
When youth, and love, and spring, and golden 
joys are gone. 

Then cold, and winter, and your aged snow, 
Stick fast upon you ; not t^ae rich array, 
Not the green garland, nor the rosy bough 
Shall cancel or conceal the melancholy grey. 

The chase of pleasures is not worth the pains, 
"While the bright sands of health run wasting 

down ; 
And honour calls you from the softer scenes, 
To sell the gaudy hour for ages of renown. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 14? 

*Tis but one youth, and short, that mortals have, 
And one old age dissolves our feeble frame ; 
But there's a heavenly art t' elude the grave, 
And with the hero-race immortal kindred claim. 

The man that has his country's sacred tears 
Bedewing his cold hearse, has liv'd his day : 
Thus, Blackbourn, we should leave our names 

our heirs ; 
Old time and waning moons sweep all the rest away. 



TRUE MONARCHY. 

1701. 

The rising year beheld th' imperious Gaul 
Stretch his dominion, while a hundred towns 
Crouch' d to the victor : but a steady soul 
Stands firm on its own base, and reigns as wide, 
As absolute : and sways ten thousand slaves, 
Lusts and wild fancies with a sovereign hand. 

We are a little kingdom ; but the man 
That chains his rebel will to reason's throne, 
Forms it a large one, whilst his royal mind 
Makes Heaven its council, from the rolls above 
Draws its own statutes, and with joy obeys. 

Tis not a troop of well-appointed guards 
Create a monarch, not a purple robe 
Dy'd in the people's blood, not all the crowns 
Or dazzling tiars that bend about the head, 
Tho' gilt with sun-beams and set round with stars 
L 2 



148 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

A monarch he that conquers all his fears, 
And treads upon them; when he stands alone, 
Makes his own camp ; four guardian virtues wait 
His nightly slumbers, and secure his dreams. 
Now dawns the light; he ranges all his thoughts 
In square battalions, bold to meet th' attacks 
Of time and chance, himself a num'rous host, 
All eye, all ear, all wakeful as the day, 
Firm as a rock, and moveless as the centre. 

In vain the harlot, Pleasure, spreads her charms, 
To lull his thoughts in luxury's fair lap, 
To sensual ease, (the bane of little kings, 
Monarchs whose waxen images of souls 
Are moulded into softness) still his mind 
W ears its own shape, nor can the heavenly form. 
Stoop to be model'd by the wild decrees 
Of the mad vulgar, that unthinking herd. 

He lives above the crowd, nor hears the noise 
Of wars and triumphs, nor regards the shouts 
Of popular applause, that empty sound ; 
Nor feels the flying arrows of reproach, 
Or spite or envy. In himself secure, 
Wisdom his tower, and conscience is his shield, 
His peace all inward, and his joys his own. 

Now my ambition swells, my wishes soar, 
This be my kingdom : sit above the globe 
My rising soul, and dress thyself around 
And shine in virtue's armour, climb the height 
Of wisdom's lofty castle, there reside 
Safe from the smiling and the frowning world 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 149 

Yet once a day drop down a gentle look 
On the great mole-hill, and with pitying eye 
Survey the busy emmets round the heap, 
Clouding and bustling in a thousand forms 
Of strife and toil, to purchase wealth and fame, 
A bubble or a dust : then call thy thoughts 
Up to thyself to feed on joys unknown, 
Rich without gold, and great without renown. 



TRUE COURAGE. 



Honour demands my song. Forget the ground, 
My generous muse, and sit amongst the stars ! 
There sing the soul, that, conscious of her birth, 
Lives like a native of the vital world, 
Amongst these dying clods, and bears her state 
Just to herself: how nobly she maintains 
Her character, superior to the flesh, 
She wields her passions like her limbs, and knows 
The brutal powers were only born t' obey, 

This is the man whom storms could never make 
Meanly complain ; nor can a flatt'ring gale 
Make him talk proudly : he hath no desire 
To read his secret fate ; yet unconcern'd 
And calm could meet his unborn destiny, 
In all its charming, or its frightful shapes. 

He that unshrinking, and without a groan, 
Bears the first wound, may finish all the war 
With meer courageous silence, and come off 



150 LYRIC POEMS, book 11 

Conqueror : for the man that well conceals 
The heavy strokes of fate, he bears 'em well. 

He, tho' the Atlantic and the Midland seas 
With adverse surges meet, and rise on high 
Suspended 'twixt the winds, then rush amain 
Mingled with flames, upon his single head, 
And clouds, and stars, and thunder, firm he 

stands, 
Secure of his best life; unhurt, unmov'd; 
And drops his lower nature, born for death. 
Then from the lofty castle of his mind 
Sublime looks down, exulting, and surveys 
The ruins of creation; (souls alone 
Are heirs of dying worlds j) a piercing glance 
Shoots upwards from between his closing lids, 
To reach his birth-place, and without a sigh 
He bids his batter' d flesh lie gently down 
Amongst his native rubbish ; whilst the spirit 
Breathes and flies upward, an undoubted guest 
Of the third heaven, th' unruinable sky. 

Thither, when fate has brought our willing 
souls, 
No matter whether 'twas a sharp disease, 
Or a snarp sword that help'd the travellers on, 
And push'd us to our home. Bear up, my friend, 
Serenely, and break thro' the stormy brine 
With steady prow ; know, we shall once arrive 
At the fair haven of eternal bliss. 
To which we ever steer ; whether as kiugs 
Of wide command we've spread the spacious sea 
With a broad painted fleet, or row'd along 
In a thin cock-boat with a little oar. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. \H 

There let my native plank shift me to land 
And I'll be happy : Thus I'll leap ashore 
Joyful and fearless on th' immortal coast, 
Since all I leave is mortal, and it must" be lost 



TO THE MUCH HONOURED 

MR. THOMAS ROWE, 

THl director of my youthful studies. 



FREE PHILOSOPHY. 

Custom, that tyranness of fools, 

That leads the learned round the schools, 

In magic chains of forms and rules ! 

My genius storms her throne : 
No more, ye slaves, with awe profound 
Beat the dull track, nor dance the round : 
Loose hands, and quit th' inchanted ground : 

Knowledge invites us each alone. 

I hate these shackles of the mind 

Forged by the haughty wise ; 
Souls were not born to be confin'd, 
And led, like Samr?on, blind and bound 5 
But when his native strength he found 

He well aveng'd his eyes. 
1 love thy gentle influence, Rowe, 
Thy gentle influence like the sun, 
Only dissolves the frozen snow, 
Then bids our thoughts like rivers flow. 
And chuse the channels where they run. 



152 LYUIC POEMS, bo 

Thoughts should be free as fire or wind ; 
The pinions of a single mind 

Will thro' all nature fly : 
But who can drag up to the poles 
Long fetter' d ranks of leaden souls ? 
A genius which no chain controuls 
Roves with delight, or deep, or high : 
Swift I survey the globe around, 
Dive to the centre thro 1 the solid ground, 

Or travel o er the sky. 



TO THE REVEREND 

MR. BENONI ROWE. 

THE WAY OF THE MULTITUDE. 

Rowe, if we make the croud our guide 

Thro' life's uncertain road, 

Mean is the chase •, and wandering wide 

We miss th' immortal good ; 
Yet if my thoughts could be confin'd 
To follow any leader- mind, 
Td mark thy steps, and tread the same : 
Drest in thy notions Td appear 
Not like a soul of mortal frame, 

Nor with a vulgar air. 

"Men live at random and by chance, 
Bright reason never leads the dance \ 
W hilst in the broad and beaten way 
O'er dales and hills from truth we stray, 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 153 

To ruin we descend, to ruin we advance. 

Wisdom retires ; she hates the crowd. 
And with a decent scorn 
Aloof she climbs her steepy seat, 
Where nor the grave nor giddy feet, 
Of the learn'd vulgar or the rude, 

Have e'er a passage worn. 

Mere hazard first began the track, 
Where custom leads her thousands blind 

In willing chains and strong; 
There's scarce one bold, one noble mind, 
Dares tread the fatal error back ; 
But hand in hand ourselves we bind 

And drag the age along. 

Mortals, a savage herd, and loud 
As billows on a noisy flood 

In rapid order roll : 
Example makes the mischief good : 
W r ith jocund heel we beat the road, 

Unheedful of the goal. 
Me let * Ithuriei's friendly wing 
Snatch from the crowd, and bear sublime 

To wisdom's lofty tower, 
Thence to survey that wretched thing, 
Mankind; and in exalted rhime 

Bless the delivering power. 



* Ith uriel is the name of an angel in Milton's Para- 
dise Lost. 



i54 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

TO THE REV. MR. JOHN HOWE. 

1704. 

Great man, permit the muse to climb 

And seat her at thy feet, 
Bid her attempt a thought sublime, 

And consecrate her wit. 
I feel, I feel th' attractive force 

Of thy superior soul : 
My chariot flies her upward course, 

The wheels divinely roll. 
Now let me chide the mean affairs 

And mighty toil of men : 
How they grow grey in trifling cares, 
Or waste the motions of the spheres 

Upon delights as vain ! 

A puff of honour fills the mind, 
And yellow dust is solid good ; 
Thus like the ass of savage kind, 
We snuff the breezes of the wind, 
Or steal the serpent's food. 
Could all the choirs 
That charm the poles 
But strike one doleful sound, 
Twould be employ'd to mourn our souls, 
Souls that were fram'd of sprightly fires 

In floods of folly drown'd. 
Souls made of glory seek a brutal joy; 
How they disclaim their heavenly birth, 
Melt their bright substance down with drossy 

earth, 
And hate to be refin'd from that impure alloy. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 155 

Oft has thy genius reus'd us hence 

With elevated song, 
Bid us renounce this world of sense, 
Bid us divide trf immortal prize 
With the seraphic throng : 
* Knowledge and love make spirits blest, 
" Knowledge their food, and love their rest j" 
But flesh, th' unmanageable beast, 
Resists the pity of thine eyes, 

And music of thy tongue. 
Then let the worms of groveling mind 
Round the short joys of earthly kind 

In restless windings roam ; 
Howe hath an ample orb of soul, 
Where shining worlds of knowledge roll, 
Where love the centre and the pole 

Compleats the heaven at home. 



THE DISAPPOINTMENT AND RELIEF. 

V irtue, permit my fancy to impose 

Upon my better pow'rs : 
She casts sweet fallacies on half our woes, 

And gilds the gloomy hours. 

How could we bear this tedious round 

Of waning moons, and rolling years, 

Of flaming hopes and chilling fears, 

If (where no sovereign cure appears) 

No opiates could be found. 



1 56 LYRIC POEMS. ioox n. 

Love, the most cordial stream that flows, 
Is a deceitful good : 
Young Doris who nor guilt nor danger knows, 

On the green margin stood, 
Pleas'd with the golden bubbles as they rose, 
And with more golden sands her fancy pav'd the 
Then fond to be entirely blest, [flood : 

And tempted by a faithless youth, 
As void of goodness as of truth, 
She plunges in with heedless haste, 

And rears the nether mud : 
Darkness and nauseous dregs arise 
O'er thy fair current, love, with large supplies 
Of pain, to teaze the heart, and sorrow for the eyes. 
The golden bliss that charm'd her sight 

Is dash'd, and drown'd, and lost : 
A spark, or glimmering streak at most, 
Shines here and there, amidst the night, 
Amidst the turbid waves, and gives a faint delight. 

Recovered from the sad surprize, 

Doris awakes at last, 
Grown by the disappointment wise ; 
And manages with art th 1 unlucky cast ; 
When the low'ring frown she spies 
On her haughty tyrant's brow, 
With humble love she meets his wrathful eyes, 

And makes her sovereign beauty bow ; 
Chearful she smiles upon his grizly form ; 
So shines the setting sun on adverse skies, 

And paints a rainbow on the storm. 
Anon she lets the sullen humour spend, 
And with a virtuous book, or friend, 
Beguiles th' uneasy hours : 



SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 157 

Well-colouring every cross she meets, 
"With heart serene she sleeps and eats, 
She spreads her board with fancy d sweets, 
And strews her bed with flow'rs. 



THE HERO'S SCHOOL OF MORALITY. 

1 heron, amongst his travels, found 
A broken statue on the ground; 
And searching onward as he went 
He trac'd a ruin'd monument. 
Mould, moss, and shades had overgrown 
The sculpture of the crumbling stone, 
Yet eer he past, with much ado, 
He guess'd, and speird out, Sci-pi-o. 

" Enough," he cry'd ; " I'll drudge no more 
" In turning the dull Stoics o'er j 
" Let pedants waste their hours of ease 
" To sweat all night at Socrates ; 
" And feed their boys with notes and rules, 
" Those tedious recipes of schools, 
" To cure ambition: I can learn 
" With greater ease the great concern 
" Of mortals ; how we may despise 
" All the gay things below the skies. 

" Methinks a mouldering pyramid 
" Says all that the old sages said ; 
" For me these shatter 1 d tombs contain 
" More morals than the Vatican. 
" The dust of heroes cast abroad, 
" And kickd, and trampled in the road, 



158 LYRIC POEMS, bo 

" The relics of a lofty mind, 

" That lately wars and crowns design'd, 

u Tost for a jest from wind to wind, 

" Bid me be humble, and forbear 

" Tall monuments of fame to rear 

u They are but castles in the air. 

" The tow 'ring heights, and frightful falls, 

" The ruind heaps, and funerals, 

M Of smoking kingdoms and their kings, 

" Tell me a thousand mournful things 

" In melancholy silence 

*' That living could not bear to see 
" An equal, now lies torn and dead ; 
" Here his pale trunk, and there his head ; 
*' Great Pompey ! while I meditate, 
" With solemn horror, thy sad fate, 
" Thy carcass, scatter'd on the shore 
*' Without a name, instructs me more 
** Than my whole library before. 

" Lie still, my Plutarch, then, and sleep, 
" And my good Seneca may keep 
" Your volumes clos'd for ever too, 
" I have no further use for you : 
" For when I feel my virtue fail, 
" And my ambitious thoughts prevail, 
" I'll take a turn among the tombs, 
*' And see whereto all glory comes: 
" There the vile foot of every clown 
u Tramples the sons of honour down ; 
" Beggars with awful ashes sport, 
" And tread the Caesars in the dirt" 



He 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 159 

FREEDOM. 

1697. 

Tempt me no more. My soul can ne'er com- 
port 
With the gay slaveries of a court: 
I've an aversion to those charms, 
And hug dear liberty in both mine arms. 

Go, vassal souls, go, cringe and wait, 
And dance attendance at Honoria's gate, 
Then run in troops before him to compose his 

state : 
Move as he moves : and when he loiters, stand : 

You're but the shadows of a man. 

Bend when he speaks ; and kiss the ground : 

Go, catch th' impertinence of sound : 

Adore the follies of the great ; 
Wait till he smiles : but lo, the idol frown' d 
And drove them to their fate. 

Thus base-born minds : but as for me, 

I can and will be free : 
Like a strong mountain, or some stately tree, 

My soul grows firm upright, 
And as I stand, and as I go, 

It keeps my body so ; 

No, I can never part with my creation-right. 
Let slaves and asses stoop and bow, 
I cannot make this iron knee [it free. 

Bend to a meaner power than that which form'd 

Thus my bold harp profusely play'd 
Pindarical $ then on a branchy shade 
I hung my harp aloft, myself beneatn it laid. 



160 LYRIC POEMS, book n. 

Nature that listen'd to my strain, 
Resum'd the theme, and acted it again. 

Sudden rose a whirling wind 

Swelling like Honoria proud, 
Around the straws and feathers crowd, 

Types of a slavish mind ; 

Upwards the stormy forces rise, 

The dust flies up and climbs the skies, 
And as the tempest fell th' obedient vapours sunk: 
Again it roars with bellowing sound, 

The meaner plants that grew around, 
The willow, and the asp, trembled and kiss'd the 
ground : 

Hard by there stood the iron trunk 
Of an old oak, and all the storm defy'd ; 

In vain the Avinds their forces try'd, 

In vain they roar'd 5 the iron oak 
Bow'd only to the heavenly thunder's stroke. 



TRUE RICHES. 



I am not concern'd to know 
What, to-morrow, fate will do : 
Tis enough that I can say, 
I've possest myself to-day : 
Then, if haply midnight death 
Seize my flesh, and stop my breath, 
Yet to-morrow I shall be 
Heir to the best part of me. 

Glittering stones, and golden things, 
Wealth and honours that have wings, 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 161 

Ever fluttering to be gone 
I could never call my own : 
Riches that the world bestows, 
She can take, and I can lose; 
But the treasures that are mine 
Lie afar beyond her line. 
When I view my spacious soul, 
And survey myself a whole, 
And enjoy myself alone, 
I'm a kingdom of my own. 

IVe a mighty part within 
That the world hath never seen, 
Rich as Eden's happy ground, 
And with choicer plenty crown'd. 
Here on all the shining boughs 
Knowledge fair and useless grows; 
On the same young flow'ry tree 
All the seasons you may see ; 
Notions in the bloom of light, 
Just disclosing to the sight • 
Here are thoughts of larger growth, 
Rip'ning into solid truth ; 
Fruits refin'd, of noble taste ; 
Seraphs feed on such repast. 
Here, in a green and shady grove, 
Streams of pleasure mix with love : 
There, beneath the smiling skies, 
Hills of contemplation rise ; 
Now, upon some shining top, 
Angels light, and call me up ; 
I rejoice to raise my feet, 
Both rejoice when there we meet. 

M 



16g LYRIC POEMS, 

There are endless beauties more 
Earth hath no resemblance for ; 
Nothing like them round the pole, 
Nothing can describe the soul : 
'Tis a region half unknown, 
That has treasures of its own, 
More remote from public view 
Than the bowels of Peru ; 
Broader 'tis, and brighter far, 
Than the golden Indies are ; 
Ships that trace the wat'ry stage 
Cannot coast it in an age ; 
Harts, or horses, strong and fleet, 
Had they wings to help their feet, 
Could not run it half way o'er 
In ten thousand days or more. 

Yet the silly wand' ring mind, 
Loth to be too much confind, 
Roves and takes her daily tours, 
Coasting round the narrow shores, 
Narrow shores of flesh and sense, 
Picking shells and pebbles thence : 
Or she sits at Fancy's door, 
Calling shapes and shadows to her, 
Foreign visits still receiving, 
And f herself a stranger living. 
Never, never would she buy 
Indian dust, or Tyrian dye, 
Never trade abroad for more, 
If she saw her native store, 
If her inward worth were known 
She might ever live alone. 






SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 163 

on mr. locke's annotations upon several 
parts of the new testament, 

Left behind him at his Death. 

Thus Reason learns, by slow degrees, 
What faith reveals ; but still complains 
Of intellectual pains, 

And darkness from the too exuberant light. 
The blaze of those bright mysteries 
Pourd all at once on Nature' s eyes 
Offend and cloud her feeble sight. 

Reason could scarce sustain to see 
Th' Almighty One, trf Eternal Three, 
Or bear the infant deity; 
Scarce could her pride descend to own 
Her Maker stooping from his throne, 
And drest in glories so unknown. 
A ransom'd world, a bleeding God, 
And Heav'n appeas'd with flowing blood, 
Were themes too painful to be understood. 

Faith, thou bright cherub, speak, and say 

Did ever mind of mortal race 

Cost thee more toil, or larger grace, 

To melt and bend it to obey. 
Twas hard to make so rich a soul submit, 
And lay her shining honours at thy sovereign feet. 

Sister of Faith, fair Charity, 
Shew me the wondrous man on high, 
Tell how he sees the Godhead Three in One, 
The bright conviction fills his eye, 
His noblest powers in deep prostration lie 
At the mysterious throne. 



164 LYRIC POEMS, book i* 

" Forgive, he cries, ye saints below, 
" The wav'ring and the cold assent 
" I gave to themes divinely true ; 
" Can you admit the blessed to repent ? 
" Eternal darkness veil the lines 

" Of that unhappy book, [shines 

" Where glimmering Reason with false lustre 
" Where the mere mortal pen mistook 
" What the celestial meant ! 



See Mr. Locke's Annotations on Rom iii. 25. and 
paraphrase on Rom. ix. 5, which has inclined some 
readers to doubt whether he believed the Deity and sa- 
tisfaction of Christ. Therefore, in the fourth stanza, 1 
invoke Charity, that, by her help, I may find him out 
in heaven, since his Notes on 2 Cor. v. ult. and some 
other places, give me reason to believe he was no Soci- 
nian, though he has darkened the glory of the Gospel, 
and debased Christianity, in the book which he calls 
the Reasonableness of it, and in^o^e-of his other works, 



THE ADVENTUROUS MUSE. 

Urania takes her morning flight 

With an inimitable wing: 

Thro 1 rising deluges of dawning light 

She cleaves her wondrous way, 
She tunes immortal anthems to the growing day. 
Nor * Rapin gives her rules to fly, nor t Purcell 
notes to sing. 



A French critic. t An English master of music. 



SA€RED TO VIRTUE, &e, 16S 

She nor inquires, nor knows, nor fears 
Where lie the pointed rocks, or where th' in- 

gulphing sand, 
Climbing the liquid mountains of the skies 
She meets descending angels as she flies, 

Nor asks them where their country lies 
Or where the sea-marks stand. 

Touch'd with an empyreal ray 
She springs, unerring, upward to eternal day, 

Spreads her white sails aloft, and steers, 
With bold and safe attempt, to the celestial land. 

Whilst little skiffs along the mortal shores 

With humble toil in order creep, 
Coasting in sight of one another s oars, 

Nor venture thro' the boundless deep. 

Such low pretending souls are they 
Who dwell inclos'd in solid orbs of skull j 

Plodding along their sober way, 
The snail oertakes them in their wildest play, 
While the poor labourers sweat to be correctly 
dull. 

Give me the chariot whose diviner wheels 
Mark their own route, and unconfin'd 
Bound o'er the everlasting hills, [behind, 

And lose the clouds below, and leave the stars 
Give me the muse whose generous force, 

Impatient of the reins, 
Pursues an unattempted course, 

Breaks all the critics' iron chains, 

And bears to paradise the raptur'd mind. 



166 LYRIC POEMS, book is. 

There Milton dwells : the man who sung 

Themes not presum'd by mortal tongue ; 

New terrors, or new glories, shine 
In every page, and flying scenes divine [along. 
Surprise the wond'ring sense, and draw our souls 

Behold his muse sent out t' explore 
The unapparent deep where waves of Chaos roar, 

And realms of night unknown before. 

She tracd a glorious path untrod, [thrown, 
Thro' fields of heavenly war, and seraphs over- 

Where his advent'rous genius led: 
Sovereign she frarrfd a model of her own, 

Nor thank' d the living nor the dead. 
The noble hater of degenerate rhime 
Shook off the chains, and built his verse sublime, 
A monument too high for coupled sounds to climb. 

He mournd the garden lost below; 

(Earth is the scene for tun eful woe) 

Now bliss beats high in all his veins, 

Now the lost Eden her egains, 
Keeps his own air, and triumphs in unrival'd strains. 

Immortal bard ! Thus thy own Raphael sings, 

And knows no rule but native fire : 
All heav'n sits silent, while to his sovereign strings 

He talks unutterable things; 
With graces infinite his untaught fingers rove 
Across the golden lyre: 
From every note devotion springs ; 
Rapture, and harmony, and love, 
Oerspread the listning choir. 



SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 167 



TO MR. NICHOLAS CLARK. 



THE COMPLAINT. 

1 was in a vale where osiers grow 
By murm'ring streams we told our woe, 

And mingled all our cares : 
Friendship sat pleas'd in both our eyes, 
In both the weeping dews arise, 

And drop alternate tears. 

The vigorous monarch of the day 
Now mounting half his morning way 

Shone with a fainter bright ; 
Still sickning, and decaying still, 
Dimly he wander d up the hill, 

With his expiring light. 

In dark eclipse his chariot roll'd, 
The queen of night obscur'd his gold 

Behind her sable wheels ; 
Nature grew sad to lose the day, 
The fiowTy vales in mourning lay, 

In mourning stood the hills. 

Such are our sorrows, Clark, I cry'd, 
Clouds of the' brain grow black, and hide 

Our darkened souls behind; 
In the young morning of our years 
Distempering fogs have climb' d the spheres, 

And choke the labring mind. 



168 LYRIC POEMS, *o 

Lo, the gay planet rears his head, 
And overlooks the lofty shade, 

New-brighf ning all the skies : 
But say, dear partner of my moan, 
When will our long eclipse be gone, 

Or when our suns arise ? 

In vain are potent herbs apply'd, 
Harmonious sounds in vain have try'd 

To make the darkness fly : 
But drugs would raise the dead as soon, 
Or clatfring brass relieve the moon, 

When fainting in the sky. 

Some friendly Spirit from above, 
Born of the light, and nurst with love, 

Assist our feeble fires ; 
Force these invading glooms away ; 
Souls should be seen quite thro 1 their clay, 

Bright as your heav'nly choirs. 

But if the fogs must damp the flame, 
Gently, kind death, dissolve our frame, 

Release the prisoner-mind : 
Our souls shall mount, at thy discharge, 
To their bright source, and shine at large 

Nor clouded, nor confm cL 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 169 

THE AFFLICTIONS OF A FRIEND. 
1702. 

Now let my cares all bury'd lie, 

My griefs for ever dumb : 
Your sorrows swell my heart so high, 

They leave my own no room. 

Sickness and pains are quite forgot, 

The spleen itself is gone ; 
Plung'd in your woes I feel them not, 

Or feel them all in one. 

Infinite grief puts sense to flight, 

And all the soul invades : 
So the broad gloom of spreading night 

Devours the evening shades. 

Thus am I born to be unblest ! 

This sympathy of woe 
Drives my own tyrants from my breast 

T' admit a foreign foe. 

Sorrows in long succession reign ; 

Their iron rod I ieel : 
Friendship has only changd the chain, 

But I'm the prisoner stilL 

Why was this life for misery made ? 

Or why drawn out so long? 
Is there no room amongst the dead? 

Or is a wretch too young ? 



170 LYRIC POEMS. 

Move faster on, great nature's wheel; 

Be kind, ye rolling powers, 
Hurl my days headlong down the hill 

With unclistinguish'd hours. 

Be dusl<y, all my rising suns, 

Nor smile upon a slave ; 
Darkness, and death, make haste at once 

To hide me in the srrave. 



THE REVERSE: 

OR, THE COMFORTS OF A FRIEND. 

1 hus nature tun'd her mournful tongue, 

Till Grace lift up her head, 
Revers'd the sorrow and the song, 

And smiling, thus she said : 

Were kindred spirits born for cares ? 

Must every grief be mine? ■ 
Is there a sympathy in tears, 

Yet joys refuse to join ? 

Forbid it, Heav'n, and raise my love, 

And make our joys the same : 
So bliss and friendship join'd above 

Mix an immortal flame. 

Sorrows are lost in vast delight 

That brightens all the soul, 
As deluges of dawning light 

O'erwhelm the dusky pole. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 171 

Pleasures in long succession reign, 

And all my powers employ : 
Friendship but shifts the pleasing scene, 

And fresh repeats the joy. 

Life has a soft and silver thread, 

Nor is it drawn too long ; 
Yet when my vaster hopes persuade, 

I'm willing to be gone. 

Fast as ye please roll down the hill, 

And haste away, my years ; 
Or I can wait my Father's will, 

And dwell beneath the spheres. 

Rise glorious, every future sun, 

Gild all my following days, 
But make the last dear moment known 

By well-distinguish'd rays. 



TO THE 

RIGHT HON JOHN LORD CUTS. 

At the Siege of Namur. 
THE HARDY SOLDIER. 

u O why is man so thoughtless grown ? 
" Why guilty souls in haste to die? 
" Venturing the leap to worlds unknown, 
" Heedless to arms and blood they fly. 



172 LYRIC POEMS, boo 

u Are lives but worth a soldier's pay ? 
u Why will ye join such wide extremes, 
" And stake immortal souls, in play 
u At desperate chance, and bloody games ? 

" Valours a nobler turn of thought, 
" Whose pardon d guilt forbids her fears : 
*' Calmly she meets the deadly shot 
" Secure of life above the stars. 

" But Frenzy dares eternal fate, 

" And spurr'd with honours airy dreams, 

" Flies to attack trf infernal gate, 

" And force a passage to the flames." 

Thus hov'ring o'er Namuria's plains, 
Sung heav'nly love in Gabriel's form, 
Young Thraso felt the moving strains, 
And vow'd to pray before the storm. 

Anon the thundering trumpet calls ; 
Vows are but wind, the hero cries; 
Then swears by heav'n, and scales the walls, 
Drops in the ditch, despairs and dies, 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 173 



BURNING SEVERAL POEMS OF OVID, MARTIAL, 
OLDHAM, DRYDEN, &C. 

I judge the muse of lewd desire; 

Her sons to darkness, and her works to fire. 

In vain the flatteries of their wit 
Now with a melting strain, now with an heavenly 
flight, 

Would tempt my virtue to approve 
Those gaudy panders of a lawless love. 

So harlots dress: They can appear 
Sweet, modest, cool, divinely fair, 
To charm a Cato's eye ; but all within, 
Stench, impudence and fire, and ugly raging sin. 

Die, Flora, die in endless shame, 
Thou prostitute of blackest fame, 

Stript of thy false array. 
Ovid, and all ye wilder pens 
Of modern lust, who gild our scenes, 
Poison the British stage, and paint damnation gay, 

Attend your mistress to the dead ; 
When Flora dies, her imps should wait upon her 
shade. 

* Strephon, of noble blood and mind, 
(For ever shine his name!) 



* Earl of Rochester. 



174 LYRIC POEMS, book i 

As death approach'd, his soul refind, 
And gave his looser sonnets to the flame. 

" Burn, burn," he cry'd, M with sacred rage, 

" Hell is the due of every page, 
" Hell be the fate. (But O indulgent heaven ! 
" So vile the muse, and yet the man forgiv'n !) 
" Burn on my songs : for not the silver Thames 

" Nor Tyber with his yellow streams 
*' In endless currents rolling to the main, 
" Can e'er dilute the poison, or wash out the 
stain. 1 ' 

So Moses by Divine command 

Forbid the leprous house to stand 

When deep the fatal spot was grown, 
" Break down the timber, and dig up the stone/' 



TO MRS. J3. BEND1SH. 

AGAINST TEARS. 
1699 



Madam, persuade me tears are good, 
To wash our mortal cares away; 

These eyes shall weep a sudden flood, 
And stream into a briny sea. 

Or if these orbs are hard and dry, 
(These orbs that never use to rain) 

Some star direct me where to buy 
One sovereign drop for all my pain, 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. \7o 

Were both the golden Indies mine, 

Fd give both Indies for a tear : 
Id barter all but what's divine : 

Nor shall I think the bargain dear. 

But tears, alas ! are trifling things, 
They rather feed than heal our woe ; 

From trickling eyes new sorrow springs, 
As weeds in rainy seasons grow. 

Thus weeping urges weeping on : 

In vain our miseries hope relief, 
For one drop calls another down, 

Till we are drown' d in seas of grief. 

Then let these useless streams be staid, 
Wear native courage on your face : 

These vulgar things were never made 
For souls of a superior race. 

If 'tis a rugged path you go, 

And thousand foes your steps surround, 
Tread the thorns down, charge thro' the foe: 

The hardest fight is highest crown d. 



FEW HAPPY MATCHES. 
August, 1701. 



Say, mighty love, and teach my song, 
To whom thy sweetest joys belong, 
And who the happy pairs 



176 LYRIC POEMS, B © 

Whose yielding hearts, and joining hands, 
Find blessings twisted with their bands, 
To soften all their cares. 

Not the wild herd of nymphs and swains 
That thoughtless fly into the chains, 

As custom leads the way : 
If there be bliss without design, 
Ivies and oaks may grow and twine, 

And be as blest as they. 

Not sordid souls of earthy mould 
Who drawn by kindred charms of gold 

To dull embraces move : 
So two rich mountains of Peru 
May rush to wealthy marriage too, 

And make a world of love. 

Not the mad tribe that hell inspires 
With wanton flames ; those raging fires 

The purer bliss destroy : 
On /Etnas top let furies wed, 
And sheets of lightning dress the bed 

T' improve the burning joy. 

Nor the dull pairs whose marble forms 
None of the melting passions warms, 

Can mingle hearts and hands : 
Logs of green wood that quench the coals 
Are marry'd just like Stoic souls, 

With osiers for their bands. 

Not minds of melancholy strain, 
Still silent, or that still complain, 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 177 

Can the dear bondage bless : 
As well may heavenly concerts spring 
From two old lutes with ne'er a string, 

Or none besides the bass. 

Nor can the soft enchantments hold 
Two jarring souls of angry mould, 

The rugged and the keen : 
Sampson's young foxes might as well 
In bands of chearful wedlock dwell, 

With firebrands ty'd between. 

Nor let the cruel fetters bind 
A gentle to a savage mind; 

For love abhors the sight : 
Loose the fierce tyger from the deer, 
For native rage and native fear 

Rise and forbid delight. 

Two kindest souls alone must meet, 
'Tis friendship makes the bondage sweet, 

And feeds their mutual loves : 
Bright Venus on her rolling throne 
Is drawn by gentlest birds alone, 

And cupids yoke the doves. 



TO DAVID POLHILL, ES2. 

AN EPISTLE. 

I 

Dec. 1702. 
Let useless souls to woods retfeat ; 
Polhill should leave a country seat 
When virtue bids him dare be great. 

N 



178 LYRIC POEMS. book ii. 

Nor Kent, * nor Sussex, * should have charms, 
While liberty, with loud alarms, 
Calls you to counsels and to arms. 

Lewis, by fawning slaves ador'd, 
Bids you receive a + base-born lord ; 
Awake your cares ! awake your sword ! 

Factions amongst the J Britons rise, 
And warring tongues, and wild surmise, 
And burning zeal without her eves. 

A vote decides the blind debate ; 
Resolv'd, Tis of diviner weight, 
To save the steeple, than the state. 

The II bold machine is form* d and join'd 
To stretch the conscience, and to bind 
The native freedom of the mind. 

Your grandsire's shades with jealous eye 
Frown down to see their offspring lie 
Careless, and let their country die. 

If §Trevia fear to let you stand 
Against the Gaul with spear in hand, 
At least f" Petition for the land. 



* His country-seat and dwelling 
•f- The pretender proclaimed king in France, 
f The parliament. 

|| The bill against occasional conformity, 1702. 
§ Mrs. Poll) ill, of the family of Lord Trevor. 
5| Mr. Polhill was one of those five zealous gentle- 
men who presented the famous Kentish petition tu par- 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, Sec. 179 

THE CELEBRATED "VICTORY OF THE POLES 

OVER OSMAN THE TURKISH EMPEROR 
IN THE DACIAN BATTLE. 

Translated from Casimire, Book iv. Oi. 4. with large Additions. 

Cjador, the old, the wealthy, and the strong, 
Cheerful in years (nor of the heroic muse 
Unknowing, nor unknown) held fair possessions 
Where flows the fruitful Danube: seventy springs 
Smil'd on his seed, and seventy harvest moons 
FilFd his wide granaries with autumnal joy : 
Still he resum'd the toil ; and fame reports, 
While he broke up new ground, and tird his plough 
In grassy furrows, the torn earth disclosed 
Helmets and swords, (bright furniture of war 
Sleeping in rust) and heaps of mighty bones. 
The sun descending to the western deep 
Bid him lie down and rest; he loos'd the yoke, 
Yet held his wearied oxen from their food 
With charming numbers, and uncommon song. 

Go, fellow labourers, you may rove secure, 
Or feed beside me ; taste the greens and boughs 
That you have long forgot ; crop the sweet herb 
And graze in safety, while the Victor- Pole 
Leans on his spear, and breathes ; yet still his eye 
Jealous and fierce. How large, old soldier, say, 



iiament in the reign of King William, to hasten their 
suDpliei, in order to support the king in his war with 
France, 



H % 



180 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

How fair a harvest of the slaughter d Turks 
Strew'd the Moldavian fields ? what mighty piles 
Of vast destruction, and of Thracian dead 
Fill and amaze my eyes ? broad bucklers lie 
(A vain defence) spread o'er the pathless hills, 
And coats of scaly steel, and hard habergeon, 
Deep bruis'd and empty of Mahometan limbs. 
This the fierce Saracen wore, (for when a boy 
I was their captive, and remind their dress :) 
Here the Polonians dreadful march'd along 
] n august port, and regular arrav, 
Led on to conquest; here the Turkish chief 
Presumptuous trod, and in rude order rang d 
His long battalions, while his populous towns 
Four'd out fresh troops perpetual, drest in arms. 
Horrent in mail, and gay in spangled pride. 

O the dire image of the bloody fight 
These eyes have seen ! when the capacious plain 
"Was throng' d with Dacian spears; wheu polish' d 

helms 
And convex gold blaz'd thick against the sun 
Reflecting all his beams I but frowning war 
All gloomy, like a gathered tempest, stood 
Wavering, and doubtful where to bend its fall. 

The storm of nrssive steel delayed a while 
Bv wise command; fledg'd arrows on the nerve; 
And scymitar and sabre bore the sheath 
Reluctant; till the hollow brazen clouds 
Had bellow' d from each quarter of the field 
Loud thunder, and disgorgd their sulphurous fire. 
Then banners wav'd, and arms were mix'd with 
arms : 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 181 

Then javelins answer' d javelins as thev fled, 
For both fled hissing death : with adverse edge 
The crooked fauehions met ; and hideous noise 
From clashing shields, thro' the long ranks of war, 
Clang d horrible. A thousand irou storms 
Roar diverse : and in harsh confusion drown 
The trumpet's silver sound. O rude effort 
Of harmony ! not all the frozen stores 
Of the cold North when pour'd in rattling hail 
Lash with such madness the Norwegian plains, 
Or so torment the ear. Scarce sounds so far 
The direful fragor, when some southern blast 
Tears from the Alps a ridge of knotty oaks 
Deep fang'd, and ancient tenants of the rock : 
The massy fragment, many a rood in length, 
With hideous crash, rolls clown the rugged cliff 
Resistless, plunging in the subject lake 
Como, or Lugaine ; th' afflicted waters roar, 
And various thunder all the valley fills, 
Such was the noise of war : the troubled air 
Complains aloud, and propagates the din 
To neighbouring regions ; rocks and lofty hills 
Bear the impetuous echoes round the sky. 

Uproar, revenge, and rage, and hate, appear 
In all their murderous forms; and fiame and blood 
And sweat and dust array the broad campaign 
In horror : hasty feet, and sparkling eyes, 
And all the savage passions of the soul 
Engage in the warm business of the day. 
Here mingling hands, but with no friendly gripe, 
Join in the fight ; and breasts in close embrace, 
But mortal, as the iron arms of death. 
Here words austere, of perilous command, 



102 LYRIC POEMS, sook zi. 

And valour swift f obey; bold feats of arms 
Dreadful to see, and glorious to relate, 
Shine thro' the field with more surprising bright- 
ness 
Than glittering helms or spears. What loud 

applause 
(Best meed of warlike toil) what manly shouts, 
And yells unmanly thro' the battle ring ! 
And sudden wrath dies into endless fame. 

Long did the fate of war hang dubious. Here 
Stood the more num'rous Turk, the valiant Pole 
Fought there; more dreadful, tho 1 with lesser 
wings. 

But what the Dahees or the coward soul 
Of a Cydonian, what the fearful crouds 
Of base Cilicians 'scaping from the slaughter, 
Or Parthian beasts, with all their racing riders, 
What could they mean against the intrepid breast 
Of the pursuing foe? th' impetuous Poles 
Rush here, and here the Lithuanian horse 
Drive down upon them like a double bolt 
Of kindled thunder raging thro 1 the sky 
On sounding wheels; or as some mighty flood 
Rolls his two torrents down a dreadful steep 
Precipitant and bears along the stream 
Rocks, woods and trees, with all the grazing herd, 
And tumbles lofty forests headlong to the plain. 

The bold Borussian smoking from afar 
Moves like a tempest in a dusky cloud, 
And imitates th' artillery of heaven, 
The lightning and the roar. Amazing scene ! 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 183 

What showers of mortal hail, what flaky fires 
Burst from the darkness! while their cohorts firm 
Met the like thunder, and an equal storm, 
From hostile troops, but with a braver mind. 
Undaunted bosoms tempt the edge of war, 
And rush on the sharp point ; while baleful mis- 
chiefs, 
Deaths, and bright dangers flew across the field 
Thick and continual, and a thousand souls 
Fled murmuring thro' their wounds. I stood aloof, 
For 'twas unsafe to come within the wind 
Of Russian banners, when with whizzing sound, 
Eager of glory, and profuse of life, 
They bore down fearless on the charging foes, 
And drove them backward. Then the Turkish 
Wander' d in disarray. A dark eclipse [moons 
Hung on the silver crescent, boding night, 
Long night, to all her sons : at length disrob'd 
The standards fell > the barbarous ensigns torn 
Fled with the wind, the sport of angry heav'n : 
And a large cloud of infantry and horse 
Scattering in wild disorder, spread the plain. 

Not noise, nor number, nor the brawny limb, 
Nor high-built size prevails : 'tis courage fights, 
'Tis courage conquers. So whole forests fail 
(A spacious ruin) by one single axe, 
And steel well-sharp'ned : so a generous pair 
Of young- wing'd eaglets fright a thousand doves. 

Vast was the slaughter, and the flow'ry green 
Drank deep of flowing crimson. Veteran bands 
Here made their last campaign. Here haughty 
chiefs 



134 LYRIC POEMS, b«iok ii. 

Stretch' d on the bed of purple honour lie 
Supine, nor dream of batttle's^hard event, 
Oppress' d with iron slumbersAnd long night. 
Their ghosts indignant to the nVther world 
Fled, but attended well : for at their side 
Some faithful Janizaries strew" d the field, 
FalPn in just ranks or wedges, lunes or squares, 
Firm as they stood : to the Warsovian troops, 
A nobler toil, and triumph worth their fight. 
But the broad sabre and keen pole-axe flew 
With speedy terror thro' the feebler herd, 
And made rude havock and irregular spoil 
Amongst the vulgar bands that own'd the name 
Of Mahomet. The wild Arabians fled 
In swift affright a thousand different ways 
Thro 1 brakes and thorns, and climb'd the craggy 

mountains 
Bellowing ; yet hasty fate o'ertook the cry, 
And Polish hunters clave the timorous deer. 

Thus the dire prospect distant fill'd my soul 
With awe ; till the last relics of the war 
The thin Edonians, flying had disclos'd 
The ghastly plain : I took a nearer view, 
Unseemly to the sight, nor to the smell 
Grateful. What loads of mangled flesh and limbs 
(A dismal carnage !) batlfd in reeking gore 
Lay welt'ring on the ground; while flitting life 
Convuls'd the nerves still shivering, nor had lost 
All taste of pain ! here an old Thracian lies 
Deform'd with years, and scars, and groans aloud 
Torn. with fresh wounds; but inward vitals firm 
Forbid the soul's remove, and chain it down 
By the hard laws of nature, to sustain 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 185 

Long torment; his wild eye-balls roll: his teeth 
Gnashing with anguish, chide his ling ring fate. 
Emblazond armour spoke his high command 
Amongst the neighbouring dead; they round their 

Lord 
Lay prostrate; some in flight ignobly slain, 
Some to the skies their faces upwards turn'd 
Still brave, and proud to die so near their Prince. 

I mov'd not far, and lo, at manly length 
Two beauteous youths of richest Ott'man blood 
Extended on the field: in friendship join'd, 
Nor fate divides them: hardy warriors both: 
Both faithful; drown'd in show'rs of darts they fell, 
Each with his shield spread o'er his lover's heart, 
In vain : for on those orbs of friendly brass 
Stood groves of javelins ; some, alas, too deep 
Were planted there, and thro' their lovely bosoms 
Made painful avenues for cruel death. 

my dear native land, forgive the tear 

1 dropt on their wan cheeks, when strong compassion 
Forc'd from my melting eyes the briny dew, 
And paid a sacrifice to hostile virtue. 

Dacia, forgive the sight that wish'd the souls 
Of those fair infidels some humble place 
Amongst the blest. " Sleep, sleep, ye hapless pair 
u Gently, I cry'd, worthy of better fate, 
" And better faith." Hard by the General lay 
Of Saracen descent, a grizzly form 
Breathless, yet pride sat pale upon his front 
In disappointment, with a surly brow 
Lowring in death, and vext ; his rigid jaws 
Foaming with blood bite hard the Polish spear, 
In that dead visage my remembrance reads 



186 LYBIC POEMS, book ii. 

Rash Caraccas : In vain the boasting slave 
Promis'd and sooth' d the Sultan, threatning fierce. 
With royal suppers and triumphant fare 
Spread wide beneath Warsovian silk and gold; 
See on the naked ground all cold he lies 
Beneath the damp wide covering of the air 
Forgetful of his word. How heaven con founds 
Insulting-hopes ; with what an awful smile 
Laughs at the proud, that loosen all the reins 
To their unbounded wishes, and leads on 
Their blind ambition to a shameful end ! 

But whither am I borne? this thought of arms 
Tires me in vain to sing to senseless bulls 
What generous horse should hear. Break offmy song 
My barbarous muse be still: immortal deeds 
Must not be thus profand in rustic verse : 
The martial trumpet, and the following age, 
And growing fame, shall loud rehearse the tight 
In sounds of glory. Lo, the evening-star 
Shines o'er the western hill; my oxen, come, 
The well-known star invites the labourer home. 



MR. HENRY BEXBYSH. 

DEAR sir, Aug. 24, 1705. 

The following song was yours when first corapos'd : 
the muse then describ'd the general fate of mankind, 
that is to be ill matched ; and now she rejoices that you 
have escaped the common mischief, and that your soul 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 187 

has found its own mate. Let this Ode then congratulate 
you both. Grow mutually in more compleat likeness 
and love : persevere and be happy. 

I persuade myself you will accept from the press 
what the pen more privately inscrib'd to you long ago; 
and I am in no pain lest you should take offence at the 
fabulous dress of this poem : nor would weaker minds 
be scandalized at it, if they would give themselves leave 
to reflect how many divine truths are spoken by the 
Holy Writers in visions and images, parables and 
dreams: nor are my wiser friends ashamed to defend 
it, since the narrative is grave and the moral so just and 
©bvious. 



THE INDIAN PHILOSOPHER. 
Sep. 3, 1701. 

Why should our joys transform to pain ? 
Why gentle Hymen s silken chain 

A plaugue of iron prove ? 
Bend ysh, 'tis strange the charm that binds 
Millions of hands, should leave their minds 

At such a loose from love. 

In vain I sought the wondrous cause, 
Rang'd the wide fields of nature's laws, 

And urg'd the schools in vain; 
Then deep in thought, within my breast 
My soul retir'd, and slumber dress'd 

A bright instructive scene. 

O'er the broad lands, and cross the tide, 
On Fancy's airy horse I ride, 



188 LYRIC POEMS. b< 

(Sweet rapture of the mind !) 
Till on the banks of Ganges' flood, 
In a tall ancient grove I stood 

For sacred use design'd. 

Hard by, a venerable priest, 

Ris n with his God, the sun, from rest, 

Awoke his morning song; 
Thrice he conjurd the murm'ring stream -, 
The birth of souls was all his theme, 

And half-divine his tongue. 

He sang — " Th' eternal rolling flame, 
" That vital mass, that still the same 

" Does all our minds compose : 
41 But shapd in twice ten thousand frames : 
44 Thence differing souls of diffring names, 

" And jarring tempers rose. 

•' The mighty power that forrnd the mind 
" One mould for every two design'd, 

" And bless'd the new born pair : 
" This be a match for this : (he said) 
" Then down he sent the souls he made, 
4i To seek them bodies here : 

" But parting from their warm abode 
46 They lost their fellows on the road, 

" And never join d their hands : 
" Ah cruel chance, and crossing fates ! 
" Our eastern souls have dropt their mates 

" On Europe's barbarous lands. 

" Happy the youth that finds the bride 
" Whose birth is to his own ail ; 'd, 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 189 

*< The sweetest joy of life : 
" But oh the crowds of wretched souls 
" Fetter d to minds of different moulds, 

" And chain d t eternal strife i" 

Thus sang the wondrous Indian bard; 
My soul with vast attention heard, 

While Ganges ceas'd to flow: 
" Sure then (I cry d) might I but see 
" That gentle nymph that twinnd with me, 

" I may be happy too. 

" Some courteous angel, tell me where, 
" What distant lands this unknown fair, 

" Or distant seas detain ? 
" Swift as the wheel of nature rolls 
** I'd fly, to meet, and mingle souls, 

" And wear the joyful chain." 



THE HAPPY MAN. 



Serene as light, is Myron's soul, 

And active as the sun, yet steady as the pole: 

In manly beauty shines his face; 
Every muse, and every grace, 

Make his heart and tongue their seat, 
His heart profusely good, his tongue divinely sweet 

Myron, the wonder of our eyes, 

Behold his manhood scarce begun! 

Behold his race of virtue run ! 

Behold the goal of glory won ! 



190 LYRIC POEMS, B 6ok u. 

Nor fame denies the merit, nor withholds the prize; 

Her silver trumpets his renown proclaim: 
The lands where learning never flew, 
Which neither Rome nor Athens knew, 
Surly Japan and rich Peru, [name. 

In barbarous songs, pronounce the British hero's 

" xAirv bliss (the hero cry'd) 
u May feed the tympany of pride; 
" But healthy souls were never found 
" To live on emptiness and sound. 

Lo, at his honourable feet 
Fames bright attendant, Wealth, appears \ 
She comes to pay obedience meet, 
Providing jovs for future years; 
Blessings with lavish hand she pours 
Gathered from the Indian coast; 
Not Danae's lap could equal treasures boast. 
When Jove came dov> n in golden show'rs. 

He look'd and turn'd his eyes away, 
With high disdain I heard him say, 
«* Bliss is not made of glittering clay. 11 

Now pomp and grandeur court his head 
With scutcheons, arms, and ensigns spread: 

Gay magnificence and state, 
Guards, and chariots, at his gate, 

And slaves in endless order round his table wait: 
They learn the dictates of his* eyes, 
And now they fall, and now they rise. 
Watch every motion of their Lord, 

Hang on his lips with most impatient zeal, 



SACBED TO VIRTUE, &c. *M 

With swift ambition seize trf unfinish'd word, 
And the command fulfil. 
Tird with the train that Grandeur brings, 
He dropt a tear, and pity'd kings : 
Then flying from the noisy throng, 
Seeks the diversion of a song. 

Music descending on a silent cloud, 

Tun'd all her strings with endless art ; 

By slow degrees from soft to loud 

Changing she rose : the harp and flute 
Harmonious join, the hero to salute, 

And make a captive of his heart. 
Fruits, and rich wine, and scenes of lawless love, 

Each with utmost luxury strove 
To treat their favourite best; 

But sounding strings, and fruits, and wine, 

And lawless love, in vain combine 
To make his virtue sleep, or lull his soul to rest 

He saw the tedious round, and, with a sigh, 

Pronounc'd the world but vanity. 

" In crowds of pleasure still I find 

" A painful solitude of mind. 
u A vacancy within which sense can ne'er supply, 

** Hence, and begone, ye flatt'ring snares, 

"Ye vulgar charms of eyes and ears, 

** Ye unperforming promisers ! 

** Be all my baser passions dead, 

" And base desires, by nature made 
" For animals and boys : 

" Man has a relish more refiVd, 

" Souls are for social bliss designed, 
** Give me a blessing fit to match my mind, 
a A kindred-soul to double and to share my joys. 



m LYRIC POEMS, book ir 

Myrrha appear'd : serene her soul 
And active as the sun, yet steady as the pole: 
In softer beauties shone her face ; 
Every muse, and every grace, 
Made her heart and tongue their seat, 
Her heart profusely good, her tongue divinely sweet : 
Myrrha the wonder of his eyes ; 
His heart recoil'd with sweet surprise, 

With joys unknown before: 
His soul dissolved in pleasing pain 
Flow'd to his eyes, and look'd again, 

And could endure no more. 
" Enough ! (tff impatient hero cries) 

" And seizd her to his breast, 
" I seek no more below the skies, 
" I give my slaves the rest." 



TO DAVID POLHILL, Esq. 

An Answer to an infamous Satire, called, "Advice to 
a Painter ;" written by a nameless Author, against 
King William III. of glorious Memory, 1698. 

Sir, 

When you put this satire into m}' hand, you gave 
me the occasion of employing my pen to answer so de- 
testable a writing ; which might be done much more ef- 
fectually by your known zeal for the interest of his Ma- 
jesty, your counsels and your courage employed in the 
defence of your king and country. And since you pro- 
voked me to write, you will accept of these efforts of 
my loyalty to the best of kings, addressed to one of the 
most zealous of his subjects, by, 
Sir, 
Your most obedient Servant, I. W. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 195 

PART I. 

And must the hero, that redeem' d our land, 
Here in the front of vice and scandal stand? 
The man of wondrous soul, that scorn' d his ease, 
Tempting the winters, and the faithless seas, 
And paid an annual tribute of his life 
To guard his England from the Irish knife, 
And crush the French dragoon ? Must William's 

name, 
That brightest star that gilds the wings of Fame, 
William the brave, the pious, and the just, 
Adorn these gloomy scenes of tyranny and lust? 

Polhili, my blood boils high, my spirits flame : 
Can your zeal sleep! Or are your passions tame ? 
Nor call revenge and darkness on the poet's name? 
W f hy smoke the skies not? Why no thunders roll? 
Nor kindling lightnings blast his guilty soul? 
Audacious wretch! to stab a monarch's fame, 
And fire his subjects with a rebel flame; 
To call the painter to his black designs, 
To draw our guardian's face in hellish lines : 
Painter, beware ; the monarch can be shown 
Under no shape but angels, or his own, 
Gabriel, or William, on the British throne. 

O ! could my thought but grasp the vast design, 
And words with infinite ideas join, 
I'd rouse Apelles from his iron sleep, 
And bid him trace the warrior o'er the deep. 
Trace him, Apelles, o'er the Belgian plain 
Fierce, how he climbs the mountains of the slain, 
Scattering just vengeance thro' the red campaign. 
o 



194 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

Then dash the canvas with a flying stroke, 
Till it be lost in clouds of fire and smoke, 
And say, 'twas thus the conqueror thro 1 the squa- 
drons broke. 
Mark him again emerging from the cloud, 
Far from his troops ; there, like a rock, he stood 
His country's single barrier in a sea of blood. 
Calmly he leaves the pleasures of a throne, 
And his Maria weeping ; whilst alone 
He wards the fate of nations, and provokes his own: 
But Heav'n secures its champion ; o'er the field 
Paint hov'ring angels ; tho' they fly concealed, 
Each intercepts a death, and wears it on his shield. 

Now, noble pencil, lead him to our isle, 
Mark how the skies with joyful lustre smile. 
Then imitate the glory on the strand, 
Spread half the nation, longing till he land. 
Wash off the blood, and take a peaceful teint, 
All red the warrior, white the ruler paint: 
Abroad a hero, and at home a saint. 
Throne him on high upon a shining seat, 
Lust and prophaneness dying at his feet, 
While round his head the laurel and the olive meet, 
The crowns of war and peace : and may they 

blow, 
With flow'ry blessings ever on his brow. 
At his right hand pile up the English laws 
In sacred volumes ; thence the monarch draws 

His wise and just commands 

Rise, ye old sages of the British isle, 

On the fair tablet cast a reverend smile, 

And bless the piece j these statutes are your owd> 

That sway the cottage, and direct the throne ; 



i. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 195 

People and prince are one in William's name, 
Their joys, their dangers, and their laws the 



Let liberty and right, with plumes displayed, 
Clap their glad wings around their guardian's 

head, 
Religion o'er the rest her starry pinions spread. 
Religion guards him ; round th' Imperial queen 
Place waiting virtues, each of heav'nly mien: 
Learn their bright air, and paint it from his eyes ; 
The just, the bold, the temperate, and the wise 
Dwell in his looks; majestic, but serene; 
Sweet, with no fondness; chearful, but not vain: 
Bright, without terror ; great, without disdain. 
His soul inspires us what his lips command, 
And spreads his brave example thro' the land : 

Not so the former reigns ; '■ 

Bend down his ear to each afflicted cry, 
Let beams of grace dart gently from his eye ; 
But the bright treasures of his sacred breast 
Are too divine, too vast to be exprest : 
Colours must fail where words and numbers faint, 
And leave the hero's heart for Thought alone to 

paint 

PART II. 

Now, Muse, pursue the satirist again, 
Wipe off the blots of his invenom'd pen; 
Hark, how he bids the servile painter draw, 
In monstrous shapes, the patrons of outlaw ; 
At one slight dash he cancels every name 
From the white rolls of honesty and fame : 
o 2 



196 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

This scribbling wretch marks all he meets for 

knave, 
Shoots sudden bolts promiscuous at the base and 

brave, 
And, with unpardonable malice, sheds 
Poison and spite on undistinguished heads. 
Painter, forbear ! or, if thy bolder hand 
Dares to attempt the villains of the land, 
Draw first this poet like some baleful star, 
With silent influence shedding civil war; 
Or factious trumpeter, whose magic sound 
Calls off the subjects to the hostile ground, 
And scatters hellish feuds the nation round, 
These are the imps of hell, that cursed tribe 
That first create the plague, and then the pain 

describe. 

Draw next above, the great ones of our isle, 
Still from the good distinguishing the vile ; 
Seat 'em in pomp, in grandeur, and command, 
Peeling the subjects with a greedy hand : 
Paint forth the knaves that have the nation sold, 
And tinge their greedy looks with sordid gold. 
Mark what a selfish faction undermines 
The pious monarch's generous designs, 
Spoil their own native land as vipers do, 
Vipers that tear their mother's bowels through. 
Let great Nassau, beneath a careful crown, 
Mournful in majesty, look gently down, 
Mingling soft pity with an awful frown : 
He grieves to see how long in vain he strove 
To make us blest, how vain his labours prove 
To save the stubborn land he condescends to lovt. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 197 

TO THE DISCONTENTED AND UNQUIET* 

Imitated partly from Casimire, B. IV. Od. 15. 

V aria, there's nothing here that's free 
From wearisome anxiety: 
And the whole round of mortal joys 
With short possession tires and cloys : 
'Tis a dull circle that we tread, 
Just from the window to the bed, 
We rise to see, and to be seen, 
Gaze on the world awhile, and then 
We yawn, and stretch to sleep again. 
But Fancy, that uneasy guest, 
Still holds a longing in our breast : 
She finds or frames vexations still, 
Herself the greatest plague we feeL 
We take great pleasure in our pain, 
And make a mountain of a grain, 
Assume the load, and pant and sweat 
Beneath th' imaginary weight. 
With our dear selves we live at strife. 
While the most constant scenes of life 
From peevish humours are not free j 
Still we affect variety : 
Rather than pass an easy day, 
We fret aud chide the hours away, 
Grow weary of this circling sun, 
And vex: that he should ever run 
The same old track ; and still, and still 
Rise red behind yon eastern hill, 
And chide the moon that darts her light 
Thro' the same casement every nigh t 



3t8 LYRIC POEMS, »e 

We shift our chambers, and our homes, 
To -dwell where trouble never comes: 
Sylvia has left the city crowd, 
Against the court exclaims aloud, 
Flies to the woods ; a hermit saint ! 
She loaths her patches, pins and paint, 
Dear diamonds from her neck are torn ; 
But Humour, that eternal thorn, 
Sticks in her heart : she's hurry' d still, 
Twixt her wild passions and her will : 
Haunted and hagg'd where'er she roves, 
By purling streams, and silent groves, 
Or with her furies, or her loves* 

Then our native land we hate, 
Too cold, too windy, or too w r et ; 
Change the thick climate, and repair 
To France or Italy for air ; 
In vain we change, in vain we fly ; 
Go, Sylvia, mount the whirling sky, 
Or ride upon the feather'd wind 
In vain ; if this diseased mind 
Clings fast, and still sits close behind. 
Faithful disease, that never fails 
Attendance at her lady's side, 
Over the desart or the tide, 
On rolling wheels, or flying sails. 

Happy the soul that Virtue shows 
To fix the place of her repose, 
Needless to move ; for she can dweU 
In her old grandsires hall as well. 
Virtue that never loves to roam, 
But sweetly hides herself at home. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. m 

And easy on a native throne 
Of humble turf sits gently down. 

Yet should tumultuous storms arise, 
And mingle earth, and seas, and skies, 
Should the waves swell, and make her roll 
Across the line, or near the pole, 
Still she's at peace; for well she knows 
To launch the stream that duty shows 
And makes her home where'er she goes. 
Bear her, ye seas, upon your breast, 
Or -waft her, winds, from east to west 
On the soft air; she cannot find 
A couch so easy as her mind, 
Nor breathe a climate half so kind. 



To JOHN HARTOPP, Esq. 

(NOW SIR JOHN HARTOPP, BART.) 

Casiraire, JB. I. Od.4. imitated. 

Vice jucundcB metuens juventce, &Ci 

July 1700. 

.Live, my dear Hartopp, live to-day, 
Nor let the sun look down and say, 

" Inglorious here he lies," 
Shake off your ease, and send your name 
To immortality and fame, 

By ev'ry hour that flies. 

Youth's a soft scene, but trust her not: 
Her airy minutes, swift as thought, 



200 LYRIC POEMS, aoo* it. 

Slide off the slipp'ry sphere ; 
Moons with their months make hasty round?, 
The sun has pass'd his vernal bounds, 

And whirls about the year. 

Let folly dress in green and red, 
And gird her waste with flowing gold 
Knit blushing roses round her head, 
Alas 1 the gaudy colours fade, 

The garment waxes old. 
Hartopp, mark the withering rose, 
And the pale gold how dim it shows! 

Bright and lasting bliss below 

Is all romance and dream ; 
Only the joys celestial flow 

In an eternal stream : 
The pleasures that the smiling day 

With large right hand bestows, 
Falsely her left conveys away 

And shuffles in our woes. 
So have I seen a mother play, 

And cheat her silly child, 
She gave and took a toy away, 

The infant cry'd and smil'd. 

Airy chance, and iron fate 
Hurry and vex our mortal state, 
And all the race of ills create ; 
Now fiery joy, now sullen grief, 
Commands the reins of human life, 

The wheels impetuous roll; 
The hamessd hours and minutes strive, 
And days with stretching pinions drive— 

— down fiercely on the gaol. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 20t 

Not half so fast the galley flies 

O'er the Venetian sea, 
When sails, and oars, and lab'ring skies 

Contend to make her way. 
Swift wings for all the riving hours 

The God of time prepares, 
The rest lie still yet in their nest 

And grow for future years. 



To THOMAS GUNSTON, Esq. 

1700. 

HAPPY SOLITUDE. 

Casimire, Book IV. Ode 12. imitated. 
Quid me latentem, djrc. 

The noisy world complains of me 
That I should shun their sight, and flee 
Visits, and crowds, and company. 
Gunston, the lark dwells in her nest 

Till she ascends the skies; 
And in my closet I could rest 
Till to the heavens I rise. 

Yet they will urge, " This private life 

" Can never make you blest, 

" And twenty doors are still at strife 
" T' engage you for a guest." 
Friend, should the towers of Windsor or Whitehall 

Spread open their inviting gates 

To make my entertainment gay; 

I would obey the royal call, 
But short should be my stay, 

Since a diviner service waits 
T' employ my hours at home, and better fill the day. 



202 LYRIC POEMS. book ii. 

When I within myself retreat 

I shut my doors against the great; 

My busy eye-balls inward roll, 

And there with large survey I see 

All the wide theatre of me, 
And view the various scenes of my retiring soul j 
There I walk o'er the mazes I have trod, 
While hope and fear are in a doubtful strife, 

Whether this opera of life 
Be acted well to gain the plaudit of my God. 

There's a day hasfning, ('tis an awful day!) 
When the great Sovereign shall at large review 

All that we speak, and all we do, 
The several parts we act on this wide stage of clay: 

These he approves, and those he blames, 
And crowns perhaps a porter, and a prince he 

damns. 
O, if the Judge from his tremendous seat 

Shall not condemn what I have done, 

I shall be happy tho' unknown, 
JJor need the gazing rabble, nor the shouting street. 

I hate the glory, friend, that springs 
From vulgar breath, and empty sound ; 
Fame mounts her upward with a flatt'ring gale 

Upon her airy wings, 
Till Envy shoots, and Fame receives the wound; 
Then her flagging pinions fail, 
Down glory falls and strikes the ground, 
And breaks her batter'd limbs. 
Rather let me be quite conceald from fame; 
How happy I should lie 
In sweet obscurity, 
Nor the loud world pronounce my little name ! 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 203 

Here I could live and die alone; 
Or if society be due 
To keep our taste of pleasure new, 
Gunston, I'd live and die with you, 
For both our souls are one. 

Here we could sit and pass the hour, 
And pity kingdoms, and their kings, 
And smile at all their shining things, 
Their toys of state, and images of power j 
Virtue should dwell within our seat, 
Virtue alone could make it sweet, 
Nor is herself secure, but in a close retreat* 
While she withdraws from public praise 

Envy perhaps would cease to rail, 
Envy itself may innocently gaze 
At beauty in a veil ; 
But if she once advance to light, 
Her charms are lost in envy's sight, 
And virtue stands the mark of universal spight^ 



To JOHN HARTOPP, Esq. 

(NOW SIR JOHN HARTOPP, Bart) 

THE DISDAIN. 

1700 

Hartopp, I love the soul that dares 
Tread the temptations of his years 

Beneath his youthful feet : 
Fleetwood and all thy heavenly line 
Look thro' the stars, and smile divine 

Upon an heir so great 



204 LYRIC POEMS, b 

Young Hartopp knows this noble theme, 
That the wild scenes of busy life, 
The noise, th' amusements, and the strife 
Are but the visions of the night, 
Gay phantoms of delusive light, 
Or a vexatious dream. 

Flesh is the vilest and the least 

Ingredient of our frame : 
Were born to live above the beast, 

Or quit the manly name. 
Pleasures of sense we leave for boys f 
Be shining dust the miser's food ; 
Let Fancy feed on Fame and Noise, 
Souls must pursue diviner joys, 

And seize the immortal good. 



TO MITIO, MY FRIEND, 

AN EPISTLE. 

Torgive me, Mitio, that there should be any mor- 
tifying lines in the following poems inscribed to you, so 
soon after your entrance into that state which was de- 
signed lor the completest happiness on earth: but you 
will quickly discover that the Muse in the first poem 
only represents the shades and dark colours that melan- 
choly throws upon love, and the social life. In the se- 
cond, perhaps, she indulges her own bright ideas a lit- 
tle. Yet, it the accounts are but weil balanced at last, 
and things set in a due light, 1 hope there is no ground 
for censure. Here you will find an attempt made to talk 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 205 

•of one of the most important concerns of human nature ■ 
in verse, and that with a solemnity becoming the argu- 
ment. I have banished grimace and ridicule, that per- • 
sons of the most serious character may read without of- 
fence. What was written several years ago to yourself 
is now permitted to entertain the worid ; but you may 
assume it to yourself as a private entertainment still, 
while you lie concealed behind a feigned name. 



THE MOURNING-PIECE. 

Life's a long tragedy : the globe the stage, 
Well fix'd and well adorn' d with strong machines, 
Gay fields, and skies, and seas: the actors many: 
The plot immense : a flight of daemons sit 
On every sailing cloud with fatal purpose; 
And shoot across the scenes ten thousand arrows 
Perpetual and unseen, headed with pain, 
With sorrow, infamy, disease, and death. 
The pointed plagues fly silent thro' the air 
Nor twangs the bow, yet sure and deep the wound. 

Dianthe acts her little part alone, 
Nor wishes an associate. Lo, she glides 
Single thro' all the storm, and more secure ; 
Less are her dangers, and her breast receives 
The fewest darts. " But, O my lov'd Marilla, 
*• My sister, once my friend, (Dianthe cries) 
46 How much art thou expos'd ! Thy growing soul 
44 Doubled in wedlock, multiply'd in children, 



206 LYRIC POEMS, book it. 

*' Stands but the broader mark for all the mis- 
chiefs 
• - That rove promiscuous o'er the mortal stage: 
44 Children, those dear young limbs, those tend'rest 

pieces 
u Of your own flesh, those little other selves, 
* c How they dilate the heart to wide dimensions, 
Ai And soften every fibre to improve 
<€ The mother's sad capacity of pain ! 
€€ I mourn Fidelio too ; tho' Heav'n has chose 
* 6 A favourite mate for him, of all her sex 
*' The pride and flower : how blest the lovely 

pair, 
4t Beyond expression, if well mingled loves 
*' And woes well mingled could improve our 

bliss ! 
*' Amidst the rugged cares of life behold 
46 The father and the husband, flattering names, 
€€ That spread his title, and enlarge his share 
•' Of common wretchedness. He fondly hopes 
4 * To multiply his joys, but every hour 
" Renews the disappointment and the smart. 
" There's not a wound afflicts the meanest joint 
*' Of his fair partner, or her infant train, 
M (Sweet babes !) but pierces to his inmost soul. 
** Strange is thy power, O Love! what numerous 

veins, 
u And arteries, and arms, and hands, and eyes, 
" Are link'd and fasten'd to a lover's heart, 
" By strong but secret strings ! with vain attempt 
••'We put the Stoic on, in vain we try 
" To break the ties of nature and of blood ; 
^ Those hidden threads maintain the dear com- 
munion 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 207 

" Inviolably firm : their thrilling motions 
" Reciprocal give endless sympathy 
" In all the bitters and the sweets of life. 
" Thrice happy man, if Pleasure only knevf 
" These avenues of Love to reach our souls, 
" And Pain had never found 'em !" 

Thus sang the tuneful maid, fearful to tr^ 
The bold experiment. Oft Daphnis came, 
And oft Narcissus, rivals of her heart, 
Luring her eyes with trifles dipt in gold, 
And the gay silken bondage. Firm she stood* 
And bold repuls'd the bright temptation still, 
Nor put the chains on ; dangerous to try, 
And hard to be dissolv'd. Yet rising tears 
Sate on her eye-lids, while her numbers flow'd 
Harmonious sorrow ; and the pitying drops 
Stole down her cheeks, to mourn the hapless state 
Of mortal love. Love, thou best blessing sent 
To soften life, and make our iron cares 
Easy : but thy own cares, of softer kind, 
Give sharper wounds : they lodge too near the heart, 
Beat, like the pulse, perpetual, and create 
A strange uneasy sense, a tempting pain. 

Say, my companion Mitio, speak sincere, 
(For thou art learned now) what anxious thoughts, 
What kind perplexities tumultuous rise, 
If but the absence of a day divide 
Thee from thy fair beloved ! Vainly smiles 
The chearful sun, and night with radiant eye& 
Twinkles in vain : the region of thy soul 
Is darkness, till thy better star appear. 
Tell me, what toil, what torment to sustain 



SOS LYRIC POEMS, book ir. 

The rolling burden of the tedious hours ? 
The tedious hours are ages. Fancy roves 
Restless in fond enquiry, nor believes 
Charissa safe : Charissa, in whose life 
Thy life consists, and in her comfort thine. 
Fear and surmise put on a thousand forms 
Of dear disquietude, and round thine ears 
Whisper ten thousand dangers, endless woes, 
Till thy frame shudders at her fancy'd death ; 
Then dies my Mitio, and his blood creeps cold 
Thro 1 every vein. Speak, does the stranger Muse 
Cast happy guesses at the unknown passion, 
Or has she fabled all? Inform me, friend, 
Are half thy jovs sincere ? Thy hopes fulfill'd, 
Or frustrate? Here commit thy secret griefs 
To faithful ears, and be they bury'd here 
In friendship and oblivion ; lest they spoil 
Thy new-born pleasures with distasteful gall. 
Nor let thine eye too greedily drink in 
The frightful prospect, when untimely death 
Shall make wide inroads on a parent's heart, 
And his dear offspring to the cruel grave 
Are dragg'd in sad succession, while his soul 
Is torn away piece-meal: Thus dies the wretch 
A various death, and frequent, ere he quit 
The theatre, and make his exit final 

But if his dearest half, his faithful mate 
Survive, and in the sweetest saddest airs 
Of love and grief, approach with trembling hand 
To close his swimming eyes, what double pangs, 
What racks, what twinges rend his heart-strings off 
From the fair bosom of that fellow-dove 
He leaves behind to mourn ? what jealous cares 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 209 

Hang on his parting soul, to think his love 
Expos'd to wild oppression, and the herd 
Of savage men ? so parts the dying turtle 
With sobbing accents, with such sad regret 
Leaves his kind feather'd mate : the widow bird 
Wanders in lonesome shades, forgets her food, 
Forgets her life ; or falls a speedier prey 
To talond falcons, and the crooked beak 
Of hawks athirst for blood. 



PART II. 

THE BRIGHT VISION. 

Thus far the Muse, in unaccustom'd mood, 

And strains unpleasing to a lover's ear, 

Indulg'd a gloom of thought: and thus she sang 

Partial ; for Melancholy's hateful form 

Stood by in sable robe : the pensive muse 

Surveyed the darksome scenes of life, and sought 

Some bright relieving glimpse, some cordial ray 

In the fair world of love : but while she gaz'd 

Delightful on the state of twin-born souls 

United, bless'd, the cruel shade apply'd 

A dark long tube, and a false tinctur'd glass 

Deceitful ; blending love and life at once 

In darkness, Chaos, and the common mass 

Of misery : now Urania feels the cheat, 

And breaks the hated optic in disdain. 

Swift vanishes the sullen form, and lo 

The scene shines bright with bliss : behold the 

place 

Where mischiefs never fty, care, never come 
p 



210 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

With wrinkled brow, nor anguish, nor disease, 
Nor malice forky-tongud. On this dear spot, 
Mitio, my love would fix and plant thy station 
To act thy part of life, serene and blest 
With thy fair consort fitted to thy heart. 

Sure 'tis a vision of that happy grove 
Where the first authors of our mournful race 
Liv'd in sweet Partnership ! one hour they liv'd 
But changd the tasted bliss (imprudent pair!) 
For sin, and shame, and this vast wilderness 
Of briars, and nine hundred years of pain. 
The wishing muse new-dresses the fair garden 
Amid this desert- world, with budding bliss, 
And ever-greens, and balms, and flow'ry beauties, 
Without one dangerous tree : there heavenly dews 
Nightly descending shall impearl the grass 
And verdant herbage ; drops of fragrancy 
Sit trembling on the spires : the spicy vapours 
Rise with the dawn, and thro' the air diffus'd 
Salute your waking senses with perfume : 
While vital fruits with their ambrosial juice 
Renew life's purple flood and fountain, pure 
From vicious taint ; and with your innocence 
Immortalize the structure of your clay. 
On this new paradise the cloudless skies 
Shall smile perpetual, while the lamp of day 
With flames unsullyd, (as the fabled torch 
Of Hymen) measures out your golden hours 
Along his azure road. The nuptial moon 
In milder rays serene, should nightly ri^e 
Full orb'd (if heaven and nature will indulge 
So fair an emblem) big with silver joys, 
And still forgot her wane* The feather'd choir 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 2!1 

Warbling their Makers praise on early wing, 
Or perch' d on evening bough, shall join your 

worship, 
Join your sweet vespers, and the morning song. 

sacred symphony ! hark, thro 1 the grove 
I hear the sound divine ! I'm all attention, 
All ear, all ecstasy ; unknown delight ! 
And the fair muse proclaims the heav'n below. 

Not the seraphic minds of high degree 
Disdain converse with men : again returning 
I see th' ethereal host on downward wing. 
Lo, at the eastern gate young cherubs stand 
Guardians, commission'd to convey their joys 
To earthly lovers. Go, ye happy pair, 
Go taste their banquet, learn the nobler pleasures 
Supernal, and from brutal dregs refm'd. 
Raphael shall teach thee, friend, exalted thoughts 
And intellectual bliss. Twas Raphael taught 
The patriarch of our progeny th' affairs 
Of heaven : (so Milton sings, enlighten'd bard I 
Nor miss'd his eyes, when in sublimest strain 
The angel's great narration he repeats 
To Albion's sons high favour'd) thou shalt leara 
Celestial lessons from his awful tongue; 
And with soft grace and interwoven loves 
(Grateful digression) all his words rehearse 
To thy Charissas ear, and charm her soul. 
Thus with divine discourse, in shady bowers 
Of Eden, our first father entertain'd 
Eve, his sole auditress ;, and deep dispute 



212 LYRIC POEMS. book ii. 

With conjugal caresses on her lip 

Solv'd easy, and obstrusest thoughts reveal'd. 

Now the day wears apace, now Mitio comes 
From his bright tutor, and finds out his mate. 
Behold the dear associates seated low 
On humble turf, with rose and myrtle strow'd ; 
But high their conference ! how self-sufrlc'd 
Lives their Eternal Maker, girt around 
With glories: arm'dwith thunders; and his throne 
Mortal access forbids, projecting far 
Splendors unsufferable and radiant death. 
With reverence and abasement deep they fall 
Before his sovereign majesty, to pay 
Due worship: then his mercy on their souls 
Smiles with a gentler ray, but sovereign still; 
And leads their meditation and discourse 
Long ages backward, and across the seas 
To Bethlehem of Judah: there the Son, 
The filial Godhead, character express 
Of brightness inexpressible, laid by 
His beamy robes, and made descent to earth ; 
Sprung from the sons of Adam he became 
A second father, studious to regain 
Lost Paradise for men, and purchase heav'n. 

The lovers with indearment mutual thus 
Promiscuous tahVd, and questions intricate 
His manly judgment still resolv'd, and still 
Held her attention fix'd: she musing sat 
On the sweet mention of incarnate love, 
Till rapture wak'd her voice to softest strains. 
" She S3ng the infant god; (mysterious theme !) 



SACKED TO VIRTUE, &c. 215 

u How vile his birth-place, and his cradle vile! 

" The ox and ass his mean companions ; there 

" In habit vile the shepherds flock around, 

" Saluting the great mother, and adore 

" Israel's anointed king, the appointed heir 

" Of the creation. How debas'd he lies 

" Beneath his regal state; for thee, my Mitio, 

" Debas'd in servile form ; but angels stood 

" Ministring round their charge with folded 

wings 
" Obsequious, tho' unseen-, while lightsome hours 
" FulfnTd the day, and the grey evening rose. 
" Then the fair guardians hov'ring o'er his head 
*' Wakeful all night, drive the foul spirits far, 
" And with their fanning pinions purge the air 
" From busy phantoms, from infectious damps, 
" And impure taint; while their ambrosial plumes 
" A dewy slumber on his senses shed. 
" Alternate hymns the heavenly watchers sung 
" Melodious, soothing the surrounding shades, 
" And kept the darkness chaste and holy. Then 
" Midnight was charm'd, and ali her gazing eyes 
" Wonder d to see their mighty Maker sleep. 
" Behold the glooms disperse, the rosy morn 
" Smiles in the east with eye-lids opening fair, 
" But not so fair as thine ; O I could fold thee, 
w My young Almighty, my Creator-babe, 
" For ever in these arms ! for ever dwell 
" Upon thy lovely form with gazing joy, 
" And every pulse shall beat seraphic love ! 
u Around my seat should croudihg cherubs come 
u With swift ambition, zealous to attend 
" Their prince, and form a heav'n below the sky. 



SU LYRIC POEMS, book it. 

u Forbear, Charissa, O forbear the thought 
*' Of female- fondness, and forgive tne man 
** That interrupts such melting harmony I" 
Thus Mitio ; and awakes her nobler powers 
To pay just worship to the sacred King, 
Jesus, the God ; nor with devotion pure 
Mix the caresses of her softer sex ; 
{Vain blandishment) " Come, turn thine eyes aside 
** From Bethle'em, and climb up the doleful steep, 
*' Of bloody Calvary, where naked sculls 
4i Pave the sad road, and fright the traveller. 
" Can my beloved bear to trace the feet 
" Of her Redeemer panting up the hill 
*' Hard burdened? can thy heart attend his cross? 
" Naird to the cruel wood he groans, he dies, 
" For thee he dies. Beneath thy sins and mine 
" (Horrible load !) the sinless Saviour groans, 
*' And in fierce anguish of his soul expires. 
* x Adoring angels pry with bending head 
*' Searching the deep contrivance, and admire 
" This infinite design. Here peace is made 
* 'Twixt God the Sovereign, and the rebel man: 
" Here Satan overthrown with all his hosts 
u In second ruin rages and despairs; 
*' Malice itself despairs. The captive prey 
u Long held in slavery hopes a sweet release, 
*' And Adam's ruin'd offspring shall revive 
*' Thus ransom' d from the greedy jaws of death." 

The fair disciple heard; her passions move 
Harmonious to the great discourse, and breathe 
Refin'd devotion : while new smiles of love 
Repay her teacher. Both with bended knees 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 215 

Read o'er the covenant of eternal life 

Brought down to men; seal'd by the sacred three 

In heav'n ; and seal'd on earth with God's own 

blood. 
Here they unite their names again, and sign 
Those peaceful articles. (Hail, blest co-heirs 
Celestial I ye shall grow to manly age, 
And spite of earth and hell, in season due 
Possess the fair inheritance above.) 
With joyous admiration they survey 
The gospel treasures infinite, unseen 
By mortal eye, by mortal ear unheard, 
And unconceiv'd by thought : riches divine 
And honours which the Almighty Father God 
Pour'd with immense profusion, on his Son, 
High treasurer of heaven. The Son bestows 
The life, the love, the blessing, and the joy 
On bankrupt mortals who believe and love 
His name. " Then, my Charissa, all is thine : 
" And thine, my Mitio, the fair saint replies. 
" Life, death, the world below, and worlds on 

high, 
" And place, and time, are ours ; and things to 

come, 
" And past, and present, for our interest stands 
" Firm in our mystic head, the title sure. 
" 'Tis for our health and sweet refreshment 

(while 
** We sojourn strangers, here) the fruitful earth 
*' Bears plenteous ; and revolving seasons still 
M Dress her vast globe in various ornament. 
" For us this chearful sun and chearful light 
" Diurnal shine. This blue expanse of sky 
" Hangs, a rich canopy above our heads 



516 LYRIC POEMS. book ii. 

" Covering our slumbers, all with starry gold 
4t Inwrought, when night alternates her return. 
" For us time wears his wings out : nature keeps 
M Her wheels in motion : and her fabric stands. 
" Glories beyond our ken of mortal sight 
" Are now preparing, and a mansion fair 
" Awaits us, where the Saints unbody'd live. 
" Spirits releas'd from clay, and purge! from sin: 
M Thither our hearts with most incessant wish 
" Panting aspire ; when shall that dearest hour 
" Shine and release us hence, and bear us high 
u Bear us at once unsever d to our better homer" 

O blest connubial state ! O happy pair, 
Envy'd by yet unsociated souls 
Who seek their faithful twins ! your pleasures rise 
Sweet as the morn, advancing as the day, 
Fervent as the glorious noon, serenely calm 
As summer-evenings. The vile sons of earth 
Grovelling in dust with all their noisy jars 
Restless, shall interrupt your joys no more 
Than barking animals affright the moon 
Sublime, and riding in her midnight way. 
Friendship and love shall undistinguish'd reign 
O'er all your passions with unrival'd sway 
Mutual and everlasting : friendship knows 
No property in good, but all things common 
That each possesses, as the light or air 
In which we breathe and live : there's not one 

thought 
Can lurk in close reserve, no barriers fix'd, 
But every passage open as the day 
To one another's breast, and inmost mfnd. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 217 

Thus by communion your delight shall grow, 
Thus streams of mingled bliss swell higher as 

they flow, 
Thus angels mix their flames, and more divinely 

glow. 

PART III. 

THE ACCOUNT BALANCED. 

Should sovereign love before me stand, 

W itb all his train of pomp and state, 
And bid the daring muse relate 

His comforts and his cares ; 
Mitio, I would not ask the sand 
For metaphors t 1 express their weight, 
Nor borrow numbers from the stars. 
Thy cares and comforts, sovereign love 
Vastly out-weigh the sand below, 
And to a larger audit grow 

Than all the stars above. 
Thy mighty losses and thy gains 

Are their own mutual measures ; 
Only the man that knows thy pains 

Can reckon up thy pleasures. 

Say, Damon, say how bright the scene, 

Damon is half-divinely blest, 
Leaning his head on his Florellas breast 
Without a jealous thought, or busy care between; 

They the sweet passions mix and share 5 

Florella tells thee all her heart, 
Nor can thy soul's remotest part 
Conceal a thought or wish from the beloved fair. 

Say, what a pitch thy pleasures fly, 
When friendship all -sincere grows up to ecstacy; 



215 LYUIC POEMS. book u. 

Nor self contracts the bliss, nor vice pollutes the joy ? 

While thy dear offspring round thee sit, 
Or sporting innocently at thy feet, 
Thy kindest thoughts engage: 
Those little images of thee, 
What pretty toys of youth they be, 
And growing props of age ! 

But short is earthly bliss ! the changing wind 

Blows from the sickly South, and brings 
Malignant fevers on its sultry wings, 

Relentless death sits close behind : 
Now gasping infants, and a wife in tears, 

With piercing groans salutes his ears, 
Thro' evry vein the thrilling torments roll ; 

While sweet and bitter are at strife 

In those dear nurseries of life, 
Those tenderest pieces of his bleeding soul. 

The pleasing sense of love awhile 
Mixt with the heart-ache, may the pain beguile, 

And make a feeble fight : 
Till sorrows like a gloomy deluge rise, 

Then every smiling passion dies, 

And hope alone with wakeful eyes, 
Darkling and solitary waits the slow-returning light 

Here then let my ambition rest, 
May I be moderately blest 
When I the laws of love obey : 
Let but my pleasure and my pain 
In equal balance ever reign, 
Or mount by turns and sink again, 
And share just measures of alternate sway* 
So Damon lives, and ne'er complains.; 
Scarce can we hope div iner scenes 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &e. 219 

On this dull stage of clay : 
The tribes beneath the northern bear 
Submit to darkness half the year, 

Since half the year is day. 



ON THE 

DEATH of the DUKE of GLOUCESTER, 

Just after Mr. Dry den. 1700. 
AN EPIGRAM. 

Dryden is dead, Dryden alone could sing 
The full-grown glories of a future king. 
Now Glo'ster dies : thus lesser heroes live 
By that immortal breath that poets give ; 
And scarce survive the muse: but William stands 
Nor asks his honours from the poet's hands. 
William shall shine without a Dry den's praise, 
His laurels are not grafted on the bays. 



AN EPIGRAM 

OF 

MARTIAL TO CIRINUS. 



Sic, tua, Cirini. promas Epigrammata vulgo 
Ut mecum possis, $c. 



INSCRIBED TO MR. JOSIAH HORT. 1694. 

NOW LORD BISHOP OF KILMORE 

IN IRELAND. 

So smooth your numbers, Friend, your verse so 

sweet, 
So sharp the jest, and yet the turn so neat, 



220 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

That, with her Martial Rome would place Ci- 

rine, 
Rome would prefer your sense and thought to 

mine. 
Yet modest you decline the public stage, 
To fix your friend alone amidst trf applauding 

age. 
So Maro did ; the mighty Maro sings 
In vast heroick notes of vast heroick things, 
And leaves the Ode to dance upon his Flaccus* 

strings. 
He scorn'd to daunt the dear Horation lyre, 
Tho' his brave genius flashed Pindaric fire, 
And, at his will, could silence all the Lyric quire. 
So to his Varius he resigned the praise 
Of the proud buskin and the tragic bays, 
When he could thunder with a loftier vein, 
And sing of gods and heroes in a bolder strain. 

A handsome treat, a piece of gold, or so, 
And compliments will every friend bestow ; 
Rarely a Virgil, a Cirine we meet, 
Who lays his laurels at inferior feet, 
And yields the tenderest point of honour, wit. 



EPISTOLA. 

Fratri suo dilecto B.W. I.W. S.P.D. 

Rtjrsum tuas, amande frater, accepi literas, eodem 
fortasse momento, quomeae ad te pervenerunt; ideraque 
qui tc scribentem vidit dies, raeum ad epistolare niu- 
nus excitavit calamum ; non inane est inter nos frater- 
num nomen, unicus enim spiritus nos intiis animat, 
agitque, et Concordes in ambobus efiicit motas ; O uti- 
nara crescat indies, et vigescat mutua charitas; Faxit 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 221 

Deus, ut amor sui nostra incendat et defaecet pectora, 
tunc etenim etaltemis purae amicitiae flammis erga nos 
invicem divinum in modum ardebiraus ; contemplemur 
Jesum nostrum, caeleste illud et adorandum exemplar 
eharitatis. Ille est. 

Qui quondam aeterno delapsus ab JEthere vultus 
Induit humanos, ut posset corpore nostras 
(Heu miseras) sufferre vices ; sponsoris obivit 
Munia, et in sese Tabulae maledicta Minacis 
Transtulit, et sceleris poenas hominisque reatum. 

Ecce jacet desertus humi, diffusus in herbam 
Integer, innocuas versus sua sidera Palmas 
Et placidum attolens vultum, nee ad oscula Pa- 

tris 
Amplexus solitosve; artus nudatus amictu 
Sideros, et sponte sinum patefactus ad iras 
Numinis armati. Pater, hie infige * sagittas, 
" Hsec, ait, iratum sorbebunt Pectora ferrum, 
" Abluat aethereus mortalia crimina sanguis." 

Dixit, et horrendum fremuere tonitura coeli 
Infensusque Deus; (quern jam posuisse paternum 
Musa queri vellet nomen, sed et ipsa fragores 
Ad tantos pevefacta silet,) Jam dissilit aether, 
Pandunturque fores, ubi duro carcere regnat, 
Ira, et Pcenarum Thesauros mille coercet, 
Indi ruunt gravidi vesano sulphere nimbi, 
Contuplicisque volant contorta volumina flammse 
In caput immeritum; diro hie sub pondere pressus 
Restat, compressos dumque ardens explicat artus 
t Purpureo vestes tinctae sudore madescunt. 

* Job iv. 6. t Luke xxii. 44. 



in LYRIC POEMS book iil 

Nee tamen infando Vindex Regina labori 
Segnius incumbit, sed lassos increpat ignes 
Acriter, et somno languentem suscitat * ensem : 
" Surge, age, divinum pete pectus, et imbue 

sacro 
" Flumine mucronem; vos bine, mea spicula, 

late 
" Ferrea per totum dispergite tormina Cbristum, 
" Immensum tollerare valet ; ad pondera Poense 
" Sustentanda hominem suflfulciet incola Numen. 
" Et ut sacra Decas legum, violata tabella, 
" Ebibe vindictam ; vasta satiabere csede, 
" Mortalis culpae pensabit dedecus ingens 
" Permistus Deitate cruor." — *- 

Sic fata, immiti contorquet vuluera dextrS 
Dilaniatque sinus j sancti penetralia cordis 
Panduntur, ssevis avidas dolor involat alis, 
Atque audax mentem scrutator, et ilia mordet; 
Interea servator f ovat, victorque doloris 
Eminet, illustri Jperfusus membra cruore, 
Exultatque miser fieri ; nam fortius ilium 
Urget patris honos, et non vincenda voluptas 
Servandi miseros sontes ; O nobilis ardor 
Poenarum! O quid non mortalia pectora cogis 
Durus amor ? Quid non coelestia 

At subsidat phantasia, vanescant imagines ; nescio quo 
me proripuit amens musa : volui quatuor linias pedibus 
astringere, et ecce ! numeri crescunt in immensum ; 
dumque concitatio genio laxavi fr^na, vereor ne juve- 
nilis impetus theologiumlEeserit, et audax nimis imagi- 
natio. Heri adlata est ad me epistola indicans matrem 
meliusculese habere, licet ignis febrilis non prorsus de- 

* Zech. xiii. 7. + Col. ii. 25. % Luke xxii. 24 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 225 

seruit mortale ejus domicilium. Plura volui, sed turgidi 
et crescentes versus noluere plura, et coarctarunt scrip- 
tionis limites. Vale amice frater, et in studio pietati*- 
et artis medicae strenuus decurre. 

Datum a Musozo meo Londini xvto Calend. Febr* 
Anno Salutis cioiocxciii. 

JRATRIS E. W. OLIM NAVIGATURO* 
Sept. 30,1691. 

I felix, pede prospero 
I frater, trabe pinea 
Sulces aequora coerula 
Pandas carbasa flatibus 
Quae tuto reditura sint. 
Non te monstra natantia 
Ponti carnivorae incolae 
Praedentur rate naufraga. 

Navis, tu tibi creditum 
Fratrem dimidium mei 
Salvum fer per inhospita 
Ponti regna, per avios 
Tractus, et liquidum Chaos, 
Nee te sorbeat horrida 
Syrtis, nee scopulus minax 
Rumpat roboreum latus 
Captent mitia flamina 
Antennae ; et Zephyri leves 
Dent portum placidum tibi. 

Tu, qui flumina, qui vages 
Fluctus oceani regis, 
Et saevam boream domas. 
Da fratri faciles vias, 
Et fratrem rcducem suis, 



224 LYRIC POEMS, book ir. 

AD REVERENDUM VIRUM 

Dm. JOHANNEM PINHORNE, 

FIDUM ADOLESCENTIJE MEiE PR^CEPTOREM. 
Pindarici Carminis Specimen. 1694. 

En te, Pinhorni, Musa Trisantica 
Salutat, ardens discipulum tuam 
Grate fateri : nunc Athenas, 
Nunc Latias per amoenitates 
Tuto pererrans te recolit ducem, 
Te quondam teneros et Ebraia per aspera gressus 
Non dura duxisse manu. 
Tuo patescunt lumine Thespii 
Campi atque ad arcem Pieridon iter : 
En altus assurgens Homerus 
Arma deosque virosque miscens 
Occupat aethereum Parnassi cnlmen : Homeri 

Immensos stupeo manes 

Te, Maro, dulce canens sylvas, te bella sonantem 
Ardua, da veniam tenui venerare Camoena; 
Tuaeque accipias, Thebane Vates, 
Debita thura lyrae. 
Vobis, magna Trias ! clarissima nomina semper 
Scrinia nostro patent, et pectora nostra patebunt 
Quum mihicunque levem concesseritotiaethoram 
Divina Mosis pagina. 

Flaccus ad hanc Triadem ponatur,at ipsa pudendas 
Deponat veneres : venias sed * purus et insons 
Ut te collaudem, dum sordes et mala lustra 
Ablutus, Venusine, canis ridesve. Pecisae 
Hac lege accedant Satyrae Juvenalis, amari 

* Herat. Lib. I. Sat. 6 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. £2$ 

Terrorcs vitiorum. At Ionge csecusabesset 
Fersius, obscuros vates, nisi lumina circum- 
fusa forent, sphingisque aenigmata, Bonde, sci- 
disses. 
Grande sonans Senacae fulmen, gradisque co- 
thurni 
Fompa Sophoclei celso ponantur eodem 
Ordine, et ambabus simul hos amplecrar in ulnjs. 
Tuto, poetae, tuto habitabitis 
Pictos abacos : improba tinea 
Obiir, nee audet saeva castas 
Attingere blata camoenas. 
At tu renidens foeda epigrammatum 
Farrago inertum, stercoris impii 

Sentina fastens, Martialis, 
In barathrum relegandus imum 
Aufuge, et hinc tecum rapias Catullum 

Insulse mollem, naribus, auribus 
Ingrata castis carmina, et improbi 
Spurcos Nasonis amores. 

Nobilis extrema gradiens Caledonis ab ara 
En Buchananus adest. Divini Psaltis imago 
Jessiadae salveto ; potens seu niminis iras 
Fulminibus miscere, sacro vel lumine mentis 
Fugare noctes, vel citharse sono 

Sedate fluctus pectoris. 
Tu mihi haerebis comes ambulanti, 
Tu Domi astabis socius perennis, 
Seu levi mensas simul assidere 

Dignabere, seu lecticas. 
Mox recumbentis vigilans ad aurem 
Aureos suadebis inire somnos 
Sacra sopitis superinferens oblivia cutis, 
9. 



22-6 LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

Stet juxta * Casimirus, huic nee parcius ignem. 
Natura indulsit nee musa armavit alumnum 
* Sarbivum rudiore lyra. 
Quanta Polonum levat aura cygnum ! 
t Humana linquens (en sibi devii 
Montes recedunt) luxuriantibus 

Spatiatur in aere pennis. 
Seu tu forte virum tollis ad aethera, 
Cognatosve thronos et patrium Polum 

Visurus consurgus ovans, 
Visum fatigas, aciemque fallis, 
Dum tuum a longe stupeo volatum 
O non imitabilis ales. 

Sarbivii ad nomen gelida incalet 

Musa, simul totus fervescere 

Sentio, stellatas levis induor 

Alas et tollor in altum. 

Jam juga Zionis radens pede 

Elato inter sidera radens vertice 

Longe despecto mortalia. 
Quam juvat altisonis volitare per aethera pennis* 
Et ridere procul fallacia gaudia secli 
Tereliae grandia inania, 

Quae mortale genus (heu male) deperit. 

O curas hominum miseras ! cano, 

Et miseras nugas diademata ! 
Ventosae sortis ludibrium. 
En mihi subsidunt terrenae a pectsre faeces, 
Gestit et effraenis divinum effundere carmen 



* M. Casimirus Sarbiewski Poeta insignis Polonis. 
+ Oda V. Lib. 2. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. fl& 



Mens afflato Deo • 



at vos heroes et arma 



Et procul este dii, ludicra numina. 
Quid mini cum vestrse pondere lanceoe, 
Pallas! aut vestris, Dionyse, thyrsis? 
Et clava, et anguis, et leo, et Hercules, 
Et brutum tonitru fictitii patris, 
Abstate a carmine nostro. 

Te, Deus Omnipotens 1 te nostra sonabit Jesu 
Musa, nee assueto coelestes barbiton ausu 
Tentabit numeros. Vasti sine limite numen et 
Immensum sine lege Deum numeri sine lege 
sonabunt. 

Sed musam magna pollicentem destait vigor: divino 
jubare perstringitur oculorum acies. En labascit pen- 
nis, tremit artubus, ruit deorsum per inane aetheris, 
jacet victa, obstupescit, silet. 

Ignoscas, Reverende vir, vano carmini ; fr agin en 
hoc rude licet et impolitu aequi boni consulas, et 
gratitudinis jam diu debits in partem reponas. 



VOTUM, SEU VITA IN TERRIS BEATA. 
AD VIRUM DIGNIS5D1UM 

JOHANNEM HARTOPPIUM, BART. 

1702. 

Hartoppi eximio stemmate nobilis 
V T enaque ingenii divite, si roges 

Quern mea musa beat, 
Ille mihi felix ter et amplius, 
Et similes superis annos agit 
" Qui sibi sufficiens semper adest sibi." 

Hunc longe a curis mortalibus 



228 „ LYRIC POEMS, book ii. 

Inter agros, sylvasque silentes 
Se musisque suis tranquilla in pace fruentem 
Sol orens videt et recumbens. 

Nan suae vulgi favor insolentes 
tTIausus insani tumidus popeili) 
Me»tis ad sacram penetrabit arccm, 

Feriat licet aethera clamor. 
Nee gaza fiammans divitis Indias. 
-oS T ec, Tage, vestra fulgor arenulas 
Ducent ab obscura quiete 
Ad laquear radiantis aulas, 

O si daretur stamina proprii 
Tractare fusi pollice proprio, 

Atque meum mihi fingere fatum ; 
Candidus vitas color innocentis 
Fila nativo decoraret albo 

Non Tyria vitiata concha. 
Non aurum, non gemmanitens, nee purpura telae 
]ntertexta forent invidiosa meas. 
Longe a tritimpbis, et sonitu tubas 
Longe remotos transigerem dies : 
Abstate fasces (splendida vanitas) 

Et vos abstate, coronac. 

Pro meo tecto casa sit, salubres 
Captet auroras, procul urbis atro 
Distet afumo, fugiatque longe 

Lhira phthisis mala, dura tussis, 
Displicet Byrsa et fremitu molesto 
Turba mercantum; gratius alvear 
Emulcet aures murmure, gratius 

l 7 ons salientis aquas. 



SACRED TO VIRTUE, &c. 229 

Litigiosa fori me terrent jurgia, lenes 
Ad s vivas properans rixosas execror artes 

Eminus in tuto a linguis 

Blandimenta artis simul aequus odi, 
Valete, cives, et amoena fraudis 

Verba; proh mores ! et innane sacri 
Nomen amici ! 

Tuque quae nostris inimica musis 
Felle sacratum vitias amorem, 
Absis asturnum, diva libidinis 
Et pharetrate puer ! 
Hinc, hinc, Cupido, longius avola? 
Nil mi hi cum foedis, puer, ignibus ; 
iEtherea fervent face pectora, 
Sacra mihi Venus est Urania, 
Et Juvenis Jessaeus amor mihi. 

Coeleste carmen (nee taceat lyra 
Jessaea) laetis auribus insonet, 
Nee Watsianis e medullis 

Ulla dies rapiet vel hora, 
Sacri libelli, delicae meae, 
Et vos, sodales, semper amabiles, 

Nunc simul adsitis, nunc vicissim, 
Et fallite taedia vita?. 



TO MISS SINGER, 

(NOW MRS. ROWE,) 

ON THE SIGHT OF SOME OF HER DIVINE 

POEMS, NEVER PRINTED. 

July 19, 1706. 

On the fair banks of gentle Thames 

i tund my harp; nor did celestial themes 



m LYRIC POEMS, book u. 

Refuse to dance upon my strings: 
There beneath the evening sky 
I sung my cares asleep, and raisd my wishes high 
To everlasting things. 
Sudden from Albion's western coast 
Harmonious notes come gliding by, 
The neighbouring shepherds knew the silver 

sound ; 
" Tis Philomela's voice, the neighb'ring shep- 
herds cry ;" 
At once my strings all silent lie, 
At once my fainting muse was lost, 
In the superior sweetness drown'd. 
In vain I bid my tuneful powers unite ; 
My soul retir'd, and left my tongue, 
I was all ear, and Philomelas song, 
Was all divine delight. 

Now be my harp for ever dumb, 
My muse attempt no more. 'Twas long ago 

I bid adieu to mortal things, 

To Grecian tales, and wars of Rome, 
Twas long ago I broke all but th 1 immortal strings j 
Now those immortal strings have no employ, 

Since a fair angel dwells below, 
To tune the notes of heav'n, and propagate the joy. 

Let all my powers with awe profound 
While Philomela sings, 

Attend the rapture of the sound, 
And my devotion rise on her seraphic wings. 



END OF BOOK II. m 



HOILE LYRICS. 



BOOK III. 

SACRED TO 

THE MEMORY OF THE BEAD. 



AN EPITAPH ON 

KING WILLIAM THE THIRD 

OF GLORIOUS MEMORY, 

Who died March 8, 1701. 

BENEATH these honours of a tomb, 
Greatness in humble ruin lies: 
(How earth confines in narrow room 
What heroes leave beneath the skies !) 

Preserve, O venerable Pile, 

Inviolate thy sacred trust; 
To thy cold arms the British isle, 

Weeping, commits her richest dust. 

Ye gentlest ministers of fate, 
Attend the monarch as he lies, 

And bid the softest slumbers wait 
With silken cords to bind his eyes. 

Rest his dear sword beneath his head ; 

Round him his faithful arms shall stand : 
Fix his bright ensigns on his bed, 

The guards and honours of cur land. 



n« LYRIC POEMS. b© 

Ye sister arts of paint and verse. 
Place Albion fainting by his side, 

Pier groans arising o'er the4iearse, 
And Belgia sinking when he dy'd. 

High o'er the grave religion set 

In solemn guise ; pronounce the ground 
Sacred, to bar unhallow'd feet, 

And plant her guardian virtues ronnd. 

Fair liberty in sables drest, 

Write his lov'd name upon his urn, 
William, the scourge of tyrants past, 

And awe of princes yet unborn. 

Sweet peace, his sacred relics keep, 
With olives blooming round her head, 

And stretch her wings across the deep 
To bless the nations with the shade. 

Stand on the pile, immortal fame, 
Broad stars adorn thy brightest robe, 

Thy thousand voices sound his name 
In silver accents round the globe, 

Flattery shall faint beneath the sound, 
While hoary truth inspires the song; 

Envy grow pale and bite the ground, 
And slander gnaw her forky tongue. 

.Night and the grave remove your gloom; 

Darkness becomes the vulgar dead; 
But glory bids thej-oyal tomb 

Disdain the horrors of a shade. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 233 

Glory with all her lamps shall burn, 
And watch the warrior's sleeping clayv 

Till the last trumpet rouze his urn 
To aid the triumphs of the day. 



EPITAPHIUM VIRI VENERABILIS 

DOM. N. MATHER, 

Carmine Lapidario conscriptum. 
M. $. 

REVERENDI ADMODUM VIRI 

NATHANAELIS MATHERL 

Quod mori potuit hie subtus depositum est, 
Si quaeris, hospes, quantus et qualis fuit, 
Fidus enarrabit lapis. 

Nomen a familia duxit 
Sanctioribus studiis et evangelio devota, 
Et per utramque Angliam celebri. 
Americanum se, atque Europaeum. 
Et hie quoque in sancti ministerii spem eductus 
Non fallacem : 
Et hunc utraque novit Anglia 
Doctum et docentem. 
Corpore fuit procero, forma placide verenda ; 
At supra corpus et formam sublime eminuerunt 
Indoles, ingenium, atq ; eruditio: 
Supra haec pietas, et (si fas dicere) 

Supra pietatem modestia, 
Caeterus enim dotes obrumbravit. 
Quoties in rebus divinis peragendis 
Divinitus afflatae mentis specimina 
Praestantiora edidit, 



234 LYRIC POEMS, book ii 

Toties hominem sedulus occuluit 
Ut solus conspiceretur Deus : 
Voluit totus latere, nee potuit ; 
Heii quantum tamen sui nos latet ! 
Et majorem laudis partem sepulchrale marmor 
Invito obruit silentio. 
Gratiam Jesu Christi salutiferam 
Quam abunde hausit ipse, aliis propinavit, 
Puram ab humana faece. 
Veritatis evangelicae decus ingens, 
Et ingens propugnaculum. 
Concionatur gravis aspectu, gestu, voce; 
Cui nee aderat pompa oratoria, 

Nee deerat ; 
Floculos rhetorices supervacaneos fecit 
Rerum dicendarum majestas, et Deus praesens. 
Hinc arma militiae suae non infelicia, 
Hinc toties fugatus Satanas. 
Et hinc victoriae 
Ab inferorum portis torties reportatac. 
Solas ille ferreis impiorum animis infigere 

Altum et salutare vulnus : 
Vulneratas idem tractare leniter solers, 
Et medelam adhibere magis salutarem. 
Ex defaecato cordis fonte 
Divinis eloquiis affatim scatebant labia, 

Etiam in familiari contubernio : 
Spirabat ipse undique ccelestes suavitates, 
Quasi oleo laetitiae semper recens delibutus, 

Et semper supra socios ; 
Gratumque dilectissimi sui Jesu odorem 
Quaquaversus et late ditfudit. 
Dolores tolerans supra tidem, 
^rumnasqne heu quam assiduae ! 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 255 

Invicto animo, victrice patentia 
Varias curarum moles pertulit 
Et in stadio et in meta vitae : 
Quam ubi propinquam vidit, 
Plerophoria fidei quasi corru alato vectus 

Propere et exultim attigit. 
Natus est in agro Lancastriensi 20° Martii, 1630. 
Inter Nov-Anglos theologiae tyrocinia fecit. 
Pastorali munere diu Dublinii in Hibernia 

functus, 
Tandem (ut semper) providentiam secutus ducem, 
Ccetui fldelium apud Londinenses propositus est, 
Quos doctrina precibus, et vita beavit : 
Ah brevi ! 
Corpore solutus 26° Julii, 1697. Mtzi. 67. 
Ecclesiis moerorem, theologis exemplar reliquit 
Probis pisque omnibus 
Infandum sui desiderium : 
Dum pulvis Christo charus hie dulce dormit 
Expectans stellam matutinam. 



ON THE SUDDEN DEATH OF 

MRS. MARY PEACOCK. 

AN ELEGIAC SONG, SENT IN A LETTER OP 

CONDOLANCE TO MR. N. P. MERCHANT 

AT AMSTERDAM. 

Hark ! she bids all her friends adieu } 
Some angel calls her to the spheres j 

Our eyes the radiant saint pursue 
Thro' liquid telescopes of tears* 



2oQ LYRIC POEMS, book 

Farewel, bright soul, a short farewel, 
Till we shall meet again above, 

In the sweet groves where pleasures dwell, 
And trees of life bear fruits of love: 

There glory sits on every face, 

There friendship smiles in every eye, 

There shall our tongues relate the grace 
That led us homeward to the sky. 

O'er all the names of Christ our King 
Shall our harmonious voices rove, 

Our harps shall sound from every string 
The wonders of his bleeding love. 

Come, Sovereign Lord, dear Saviour, come, 

Remove these separating days, 
Send thy bright wheels to fetch us home ; 

That golden hour, how long it stays 1 

How long must we lie ling' ring here, 
While saints around us take their flight? 

Smiling, they quit this dusky sphere, 
And mount the hills of heavenly light. 

Sweet soul, we leave thee to thy rest, 

Enjoy thy Jesus and thy God, 
Till we, from bands of clay releast, 

Spring out and climb the shining road. 

While the dear dust she leaves behind 
Sleeps in thy bosom, sacred tomb ! 

Soft be her bed, her slumbers kind, 
And all her dreams of joy to come. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 237 

TO 1HE 

REV. MR. JOHN SHOWER. 

On the Death of his Daughter, 

MRS. ANNE WARNER. 

REVEREND AND DEAR SIR, 

HOW great soever was my sense of your loss, yet I 
did not think myself fit to offer any lines of comfort ; 
your own meditations can furnish you with many a de- 
lightful truth in the midst of so heavy a sorrow ; for the 
covenant of grace has brightness enough in it to gild 
the most gloomy providence ; and to that sweet cove- 
Rant your soul is no stranger. My own thoughts were 
much impressed with the tidings of your daughter's 
death ; and though I made many a reflection on the 
vanity of mankind in its best estate, yet 1 must acknow- 
ledge that my temper leads me most to the pleasant 
scenes of heaven, and that future world of blessedness. 
When I recollect the memory of my friends that are 
dead, I frequently rove in the world of spirits, and 
search them out there : thus I endeavoured to trace 
Mrs. Warner ; and these thoughts crouding fast upon 
me, I set them down for my own entertainment. The 
verse breaks off abruptly, because I had no design to 
write a finished elegy : and besides, when I was fallen 
upon the dark side of death, I had no mind to tarry 
there. If the lines I have written be so happy as to 
entertain you a little, and divert your grief, the time 
spent in composing them shall not be reckoned among 
my lost hours, and the review will be more pleasing 
to, Sir, 

Your affectionate humble Servant, I. W. 

An Elegiac Thought on Mrs. ANN WARNER, 

Who died of the Small Pox, Dec. 18, 1707, at one o'clock in the 

morning, a few days after the birth and death of 

her first child. 

Awake, my muse, range the wide world of 

souls, 
And seek Vernera fled *, with upward aim 



233 LYRIC POEMS, «ook in. 

Direct thy wing • for she was born from heaven, 
Fulflird her visit, and returned on high. 

The midnight watch of angels that patrole 
The British sky, have notic'd her ascent 
Near the meridian star; pursue the track 
To the bright confines of immortal day 
And Paradise, her home. Say, my Urania, 
(For nothing 'scapes thy search, nor canst thou miss 
So fair a spirit) say, beneath what shade 
Of Amarant, or chearful Ever-green 
She sits, recounting to her kindred-minds, 
Angelic or humane, her mortal toil 
And travels thro' this howling wilderness: 
By what Divine protection she escap'd 
Those deadly snares when youth and Satan leagu'd 
In combination to assail her virtue j 
(Snares set to murder souls) but heav'n secur'd 
The favourite nymph, and taught her victory. 

Or does she seek, or has she found her babe 
Amongst the infant-nation of the blest, 
And clasp' d it to her soul, to satiate there 
The young maternal passion, and absolve 
The unfulfhTd embrace? thrice happy child, 
That saw the light, and turn'd its eyes aside 
From our dim regions to th' eternal sun, 
And led the parent's way to glory! there 
Thou art for ever her's, with powers enlarged 
For love reciprocal and sweet converse. 

Behold her ancestors (a pious race) 
Rang'd in fair order, at her sight rejoice 
And sing her welcome. She along their seats 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 239 

Gliding salutes them all with honours due 
Such as are paid in heaven : and last she finds 
A mansion fashiond of distinguish'd light, 
But vacant: this (with sure presage she cries) 
Awaits my father ; when will he arrive ? 
How long, alas, how long ! (Then calls her 

mate) 
Die, thou dear partner of my mortal cares, 
Die, and partake my bliss; we are for ever one. 

Ah me 1 where roves my fancy ! what kind 
dreams 
Croud with sweet violence on my waking mind ! 
Perhaps illusions all ; inform me, muse, 
Chuses she rather to retire apart 
To recollect her dissipated powers, 
And call her thoughts her own ; so lately freed 
From earth's vain scenes, gay visits, gratulations, 
From Hymen's hurrying and tumultuous joys, 
And fears and pangs, fierce pangs that wrought 

her death. 
Tell me on what sublimer theme she dwells 
In contemplation, with unerring clue 
Infinite truth pursuing. (When, my soul, 
O when shall thy release from cumb'rous flesh 
Pass the great Seal of Heaven? what happy hour 
Shall give thy thoughts a loose to soar and trace 
The intellectual world? divine delight! 
Verneras lov'd employ !) perhaps she sings 
To some new golden harp th' almighty deeds, 
The names, the honours of her Saviour-God, 
His cross, his grave, his victory, and his crown : 
Oh could I imitate th' exalted notes, 
And mortal ears could bear them!— 



24Q LYRIC POEMS, rook In. 

Or lies she now before th' eternal throne 
Prostrate in humble form, with deep devotion 
O'erwhelnVd, and self-abasement at the sight 
Of the uncover' d godhead face to face ! 
Seraphic crowns pay homage at his feet, 
And hers amongst them, not of dimmer ore, 
Nor set with meaner gems ; but vain ambition, 
And emulation vain, and fond conceit, 
And pride for ever banish'd flies the place, 
Curst pride, the dress of hell. Tell me, Urania, 
How her joys heighten, and her golden hours 
Circle in love. O stamp upon my soul 
Some blissful image of the fair deceased, 
To call my passions and my eyes aside 
From the dear breathless clay, distressing sight ! 
I look and mourn and gaze with greedy view 
Of melancholy fondness: tears bedewing 
That form so late desir'd, so late belov'd, 
Now loathsome and unlovely. Base disease, 
That leagu'd with Natures sharpest pains, and 

spoil'd 
So sweet a structure ! the impoisoning taint 
O'erspreads the building wrought with skill divine, 
And ruins the rich temple to the dust ! 

Was this the countenance, where the world 

admir'd 
Features of wit and virtue ? this the face 
Where love triumph'd ? and beauty on these 

cheeks, 
As on a throne, beneath her radiant eyes, 
Was seated to advantage ; mild, serene, 
Reflecting rosy light? so sits the sun 
(Fair eye of heavn !) upon a crimson cloud 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. Mi 

Near the horizon, and with gentle ray 
Smiles lovely round the sky, till rising fogs, 
Portending night, with foul and heavy wing 
Involve the golden star, and sink him down 
Opprest with darkness. 



DEATH OF AN AGED AND HONOURED RELATIVE^ 

MRS. M. W. 

July 13, 1693. 

I know the kindred-mind. Tis she, 'tis she; 

Among the heavnly forms I see 

The kindred-mind from fleshly bondage free; 

O how unlike the thing was lately seen 
Groaning and panting on the bed, 
With ghastly air, and languish'd head, 
Life on this side, there the dead, 

While the delaying flesh lay shivering between. 

Long did the earthly house restrain 
In toilsome slavery that ethereal guest ; 

Prison'd her round in walls of pain, 
And twisted cramps and aches within her chain: 
Till by the weight of num'rous days opprest 

The earthly house began to reel, 
The pillars trembled, and the building fell ; 
The captive soul became her own again : 
Tir'd with the sorrows and the cares, 

A tedious train of fourscore years, 

The pris'ner smil'd to be releast, 
She felt her fetters loose, and mounted to her rest, 

R 



2*2 LYRIC POEMS, book hi. 

Gaze on, my soul, and let a perfect view 

Paint her idea all anew ; 
Rase out those melancholy shapes of woe 
That hang around thy memory, and becloud it so- 
Come fancy, come, with essences refhid, 

With youthful green, and spotless white: 
Deep be the tincture, and the colours bright 
T 1 express the beauties of a naked mind. 

Provide no glooms to form a shade ; 
All things above of vary'd light are made, 
Nor can the heav'nly piece require a mortal aid. 

But if the features too divine 
Beyond the power of fancy shine, [shrine. 

Conceal th 1 inimitable strokes behind a graceful 

Describe the saint from head to feet, 
Make all the lines in just proportion meet ; 
But let her posture be 
Pilling a chair of high degree ; 
Observe how near it stands to the Almighty seat 

Paint the new graces of her eyes ; 
Fresh in her looks let sprightly youth arise, 
And joys unknown below the skies. 
Virtue that li\ es conceal 1 d below, 

And to the breast confin'd, 
Sits here triumphant on the brow, 
And breaks with radiant glories through 

The features of the mind. 
Express her passion still the same, 

But more divinely sweet ; 
Love has an everlasting flame, 
And makes the work complete. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 243 

The Painter Muse with glancing eye 

Observd a manly spirit nigh*, 
That death had long disjoin'd : 

" In the fair tablet they shall stand 

" United by a happier band:" 
She said, and fix'd her sight, and drew the manly 

mind. 
Recount the years, my song, (a mournful round!) 

Since he was seen on earth no more : 

He fought in lower seas and drown d ; 

But victory and peace he found 
On the superior shore. 
There now his tuneful breath in sacred songs 
Employs the European and the Eastern tongues. 

Let th' awful truncheon and the flute, 

The pencil and the well-known lute, 

Powerful numbers, charming wit, 

And ev'ry art and science meet, 
And bring their laurels to his hand, or lay them 
at his feet. 

Tis done. What beams of glory fail 
(Rich varnish of immortal art) 
To gild the bright original ; 



* My Grandfather Mr. Thomas Watts had such ac- 
quaintance with the mathematics, painting, music, and 
poesy, &c. as gave him considerable esteem among his 
contemporaries. - He was commander of a ship of war 
1656, and by blowing up of the ship in the Dutch War, 
he was drowned in his youth. 

E 2 



?44 LYRIC POEMS, book hi, 

Tis done. The muse has now performed her part. 
Bring down the piece, Urania, from above, 

And let my honour and my love 
Dress it with chains of gold to hang upon my 
heart. 



A FUNERAL POEM 
On the death of 

THOMAS GUNSTON, Esq. 

Presented to the 
RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY ABNEY, 

LADY-MAYORESS OF LONDON. 

July. 1701. 
MADAM, 

HAD I been a common mourner at the funeral of the 
dear gentleman deceased, I should have laboured after 
more of art in the following composition, to supply the 
defect of nature, and to feign a sorrow; but the uncom- 
mon condescension of his friendship to me, the inward 
esteem 1 pay his memory, and the vast and tender 
sense I have of the loss, make all the methods of art 
needless, whilst natural grief supplies more than all, 

I had resolved indeed to lament in sighs and silence, 
and frequently checked the too forward muse; but the 
importunity was not to be resisted ; long lines of sorrow- 
flowed in upon me ere T was aware, whilst I took many 
a solitary walk in the garden adjoining to his seat at 
Newington ; nor could I free myself from the crowd of 
melancholy ideas. Your ladyship will find throughout 
ihe poem, that the fair and unfinished building which 
he bad just raised for himself, gave almost all the turns 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 245 

«f mourning to my thoughts ; for I pursue no other to- 
pic of elegy than what my passion and my senses led 
me to. 

The poem roves, as my eyes and grief did, from one 
part of the fabric to the other ; it rises from the foun- 
dation, salutes the walls, the doors, and the windows, 
drops a tear upon the roof, and climbs the turret, that 
pleasant retreat, where I promised myself many sweet 
hours of his conversation : there my song wanders 
amongst the delightful subjects divine and moral, which 
used to entertain our happy leisure ; and thence des- 
cends to the fields and the shady walks, where I so of- 
ten enjoyed his pleasing discourse ; my sorrows diffuse 
themselves there without a limit : I had quite forgottea 
all scheme and method of writing, till I correct myself, 
and rise to the turret again to lament that desolate seat. 
Now if the critics laugh at the folly of the muse for 
taking too much notice of the golden ball, let them 
consider that the meanest thing that belonged to so va- 
luable a person still gave some fresh and doleful re- 
flections : and I transcribe nature without rule, and 
represent friendship in a mourning dress, abandoned to 
the deepest sorrow, and with a negligence becoming 
woe unfeigned. 

Had I designed a compleat elegy, Madam, on your 
dearest brother, and intended it for public view, I 
should have followed the usual forms of poetry, so far 
at least, as to spend some pages in the character and 
praises of the deceased, and thence have taken occasion 
to call mankind to complain aloud of the universal and 
unspeakable loss ; but I wrote merely for myself as a 
friend of the dead, and to ease my full soul by breathing 
out my own complaints. I knew his character and vir- 
tues so well, that there was no need to mention them 
while I talked only with myself; for the image of them 
was ever present with me, which kept the pain at the 



246 LYRIC POEMS, book hi. 

heart intense and lively, and my tears flowing with my 
verse. 

Perhaps your ladyship will expect some divine 
thoughts and sacred meditations, mingled with a subject 
so solemn as this is : had 1 formed a design of offering 
it to your hands, I had composed a more christian poem: 
but it was grief purely natural for a death so surprising 
that drew all the strokes of it, and therefore my reflec- 
tions are chiefly of a moral strain. Such as it is, your 
ladyship requires a copy of it ; but let it not touch j r our 
soul too tenderly, nor renew your own mournings. 
Receive it, Madam, as an offering of love and tears at 
the tomb of a departed friend, and let it abide with 
you as a witness of that affectionate respect and honour 
that I bore him ; all which, as your ladyship's most 
rightful due, both by merit and by succession, is now 
humbly offered, by, Madam, 

Your ladyship's most hearty and obedient servant, 

I. WATTS. 



TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF MY HONOURED FRIEND, 

THOMAS GUNSTON, Esq. 

Who died Nov. 1 1, 1700, when he had just finished his 
seat at Newington. 

Of blasted hopes, and of short withering joys, 
Sing, heavenly Muse. Try thine ethereal voice 
In funeral numbers and a doleful song ; 
Gunston the just, the generous, and the young, 
Gunston the friend is dead. O empty name 
Of earthly bliss ! 'tis all an airy dream, 
All a vain thought ! our soaring fancies rise 
On treacherous wings ! and hopes that touch th€ 
skies 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 24f 

Drag but a longer ruin thro 1 the downward air, 
And plunge the fallen joy still deeper in despair. 

How did our souls stand flatter 1 d and prepared 
To shout him welcome to the seat he rear'd ! 
There the dear man should see his hopes complete, 
Smiling, and tasting ev'ry lawful sweet 
That peace and plenty brings, while nu merous years/ 
Circling delightful play'd around the spheres: 
Revolving suns should still renew his strength, 
And draw th' uncommon thread to an unusual 

length, 
But hasty Fate thrusts her dread shears between, 
Cuts the } r oung life off, and shuts up the scene. 
Thus airy pleasure dances in our eyes, 
And spreads false images in fair disguise, 
T' allure our souls, till just within our arms 
The vision dies, and all the painted charms 
Flee quick away from the pursuing sight, 
Till they are lost in shades, and mingle with the 
night. 

Muse, stretch thy wings, and thy sad journey bend 
To the fair fabric that thy dying friend 
Built nameless : 'twill suggest a thousand things 
Mournful and soft as my Urania sings. 

How did he lay the deep foundations strong, 
Marking the bounds, and rear the walls along 
Solid and lasting; there a numerous train 
Of happy Gunstons might in pleasure reign. 
While nations perish, and long ages run, 
Nations unborn, and ages unbegun: 



248 LYRIC POEMS. book hi. 

Not time itself should waste the blest estate, 
Nor the tenth race rebuild the ancient seat. 
How fond our fancies are! the founder dies 
Childless ; his sisters weep and close his eyes, 
And wait upon his hearse with never ceasing 

cries. 
Lofty and slow it moves to meet the tomb, 
While weighty sorrow nods on every plume; 
A thousand groans his dear remains convey, 
To his cold lodging in a bed of clay, 
His country's sacred tears well-watering all the way. 
See the dull wheels roll on the sable road; 
But no dear son to tread the mournful load, 
And fondly kind drop his young sorrows there, 
The father's urn bedewing with a filial tear. 
O had he left us one behind, to play 
Wanton about the painted hall, and say, 
This was my father's, with impatient joy 
In my fond arms I'd clasp the smiling boy, 
And call him my young friend: but awful fate, 
Design d the mighty stroke as lasting as 'twas great 

And must this building then, this costly frame 
Stand here for strangers ? Must some unknown 

name, 
Possess these rooms, the labours of my friend? 
Why were these walls rais'd for this hapless end? 
Why these apartments all adorn'd so gay ? 
Why his rich fancy lavish'd thus away? 
Muse, view the paintings, how the hovering light 
Plays o'er the colours in a wanton flight, 
And mingled shades wrought in by soft degrees, 
Give a sweet foil to all the charming piece; 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 24* 

But night, eternal night, hangs black around 
The dismal chambers of the hollow ground. 
And solid shades unmingled round his bed 
Stand hideous : earthy fogs embrace his head, 
And noisome vapours glide along his face 
Rising perpetual. Muse, forsake the place, 
Flee the raw damps of the unwholesome clay, 
Look to his airy spacious hall, and say, 
" How has he changd it for a lonesome cave, 
" Confind and crowded in a narrow grave!" 

Trf unhappy house, looks desolate and mourns. 
And every door groans doleful as it turns; 
The pillars languish; and each lofty wall 
Stately in grief, laments the masters fall, 
In drops of briny dew; the fabric bears 
His faint resemblance, and renews my tears. 
Solid and square it rises from below: 
A noble air without a gaudy show 
Reigns thro' the model, and adorns the whole, 
Manly and plain. Such was the builder's soul. 

O how I love to view the stately frame, 
That dear memorial of the best-lov'd name ! 
Then could I wish for some prodigious cave 
Vast as his seat, and silent as his grave, 
Where the tall shades stretch to the hideous 

roof, 
Forbid the day, and guard the sun-beams off; 
Thither, my willing feet, should ye be drawn 
At the grey twilight, and the early dawn. 
There sweetly sad should my soft minutes roll, 
Numbering the sorrows of my drooping souL 



250 LYRIC POEMS, book nt. 

But these are airy thoughts! substantial grief 
Grows by those objects that should yield relief; 
Fond of my woes 1 heave my eyes around, 
My grief from every prospect courts a wound; 
Views the green gardens, views the smiling 

skies, 
Still my heart sinks, and still my cares arise ; 
My wand 1 ring feet round the fair mansion rove, 
And there to sooth my sorrows I indulge my love. 

Oft have I laid the awful Calvin by, 
And the sweet Cowley, with impatient eye 
To see those walls, pay the sad visit there, 
And drop the tribute of an hourly tear: 
Still I behold some melancholy scene, 
With many a pensive thought, and many a sigh 

between. 
Two days ago we took the evening air, 
I, and my grief, and my Urania there; 
Say, my Urania, how the western sun 
Broke from black clouds, and in full glory shone 
Gilding the roof, then dropt into the sea, 
And sudden night devour d the sweet remains of 

day; 
Thus the bright youth just rear'd his shining 

head 
From obscure shades of life, and sunk among the 

dead. 
The rising sun adorn'd with all his light 
Smiles on these walls again: but endless night 
Reigns uncontrouFd where the dear Gunston 

lies, 
He's set for ever, and must never rise. 



SACRED TO THE DE&D. 251 

Then why these beams, unseasonable star, 
These lightsome smiles descending from afar, 
To greet a mourning house? In vain the day 
Breaks thro' the windows with a joyful ray, 
And marks a shining path along the floors 
Bounding the evening and the morning hours? 
In vain it bounds 'em : while vast emptiness 
And hollow silence reigns thro' all the place, 
Nor heeds the ch earful change of Natures face. 
Yet Natures wheels will on without controul, 
The sun will rise, the tuneful spheres will roll, 
And the two nightly bears walk round and watch 
the pole. 

See while I speak, high on her sable wheel 
Old Night advancing climbs the eastern hill: 
Troops of dark clouds prepare her way ; behold, 
How their brown pinions edg'd with evening gold 
Spread shadowing o'er the house, and glide away 
Slowly pursuing the declining day; 
O'er the broad roof they fly their circuit still, 
Thus days before they did, and days to come they 

will ; 
But the black cloud that shadows o'er his eyes, 
Hangs there unmoveable, and never flies ; 
Fain would I bid the envious gloom be gone ; 
Ah fruitless wish ! how are his curtains drawn 
For a long evening that despairs the dawn I 

Muse, view the turret : just beneath the skies, 
Lonesome it stands, and fixes my sad eyes, 
As it would ask a tear. O sacred seat 
Sacred to friendship ! O divine retreat ! 



85* LYRIC POEMS, isooK git. 

Here did I hope my happy hours f employ, 
And fed before-hand on the promis'd joy, 
When weary of the noisy town, my friend 
From mortal cares retiring, should ascend 
And lead me thither. We alone would sit 
Free and secure of all intruding feet : 
Our thoughts should stretch their longest wings, 

and rise, 
Nor bound their soarings by the lower skies: 
Our tongues should aim at everlasting themes, 
And speak what mortals dare, of all the names 
Of boundless joys and glories, thrones and seats 
Built high in heaven for souls : we'd trace the 

streets 
Of golden pavement, walk each blissful field, 
And climb and taste the fruits the spicy moun- 
tains yield : 
Then would we swear to keep the sacred road, 
And walk right upwards to that blest abode ; 
We'd charge our parting spirits there to meet, 
There hand in hand approach th' Almighty seat, 
And bend our heads adoring at our Maker's feet 
Thus should we mount on bold adventurous wings 
In high discourse, and dwell on heavenly things, 
While the pleas'd hours in sweet succession move, 
And minutes measur'd, as they are above, 
By ever-circling joys, and ever-shining love. 

Anon our thoughts should lower their lofty 
flight, 
Sink by degrees, and take a pleasing sight, 
A large round prospect of the spreading plain, 
The wealthy river, and his winding train, 
The smoky city, and the busy men. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. tm 

How we should smile to see degenerate worms 
Lavish their lives, and right for airy forms 
Of painted honour, dreams of empty sound, 
Till envy rise, and shoot a secret wound 
At swelling glory, strait the bubble breaks, 
And the scenes vanish, as the man awakes ; 
Then the tali titles, insolent and proud 
Sink to the dust, and mingle with the crowd. 

Man is a restless thing : still vain and wild, 
Lives beyond sixty, nor outgrows the child : 
His hurrying lusts still break the sacred bound 
To seek new pleasures on forbidden ground, 
And buy them all too dear. Unthinking fool, 
For a short dying joy to sell a deathless soul I 
Tis but a grain of sweetness they can sow, 
An d reap the long sad harvest of immortal woe. 

Another tribe toil in a different strife, 
And banish all the lawful sweets of life, 
To sweat and dig for gold, to hold the ore, 
Hide the dear dust yet darker than before, 
And never dare to use a grain of all the store. 

Happy the man that knows the value just 
Of earthly things, nor is enslav'd to dust. 
'Tis a rich gift the skies but rarely send 
To fav'rite souls. Then happy thou, my friend, 
For thou hadst learnt to manage and command 
The wealth that heaven bestow'd with liberal 

hand: 
Hence this fair structure rose ; and hence this seat 
Made to invite my not unwilling feet : 
In vain 'twas made ! for we shall never meet, 



i>54 LYRIC POEMS, book n. 

And smile, and love, and bless each other here, 
The envious tomb forbids thy face t' appear, 
Detains thee, Guns ton, from my longing eyes, 
And all my hopes lie bury'd, where my Gunston 
lies. 

Come hither, all ye tenderest souls, that know 
The heights of fondness, and the depths of woe ; 
Young mothers, who your darling babes have 

found 
Untimely murder d with a ghastly wound ; 
Ye frighted nymphs, who on the bridal bed 
Clasp' d in your arms your lovers cold and dead, 
Come ; in the pomp of all your wild despair, 
With flowing eye-lids, and disordered hair, 
Death in your looks ; come, mingle grief with 

me, 
And drown your little streams in my unbounded 
sea. 

You sacred mourners of a nobler mold, 
Born for a friend, whose dear embraces hold 
Beyond all Nature's ties ; you that have known 
Two happy souls made intimately one, 
And felt a parting stroke : 'tis you must tell 
The smart, the twinges, and the racks I feel : 
This soul of mine that dreadful wound has borne, 
Off from its side its dearest half is torn, 
The rest lies bleeding, and but lives to mourn. 
Oh infinite distress ! such raging grief 
Should command pity, and despair relief. 
Passion, methinks, should rise from all my groans, 
Give sense to rocks, and sympathy to stones. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 255 

Ye dusky woods and echoing hills around, 
Repeat my cries with a perpetual sound : 
Be all ye flow'ry vales with thorns o'ergrown, 
Assist my sorrows, and declare your own; 
Alas 1 your Lord is dead. The humble plain 
Must neer receive his courteous feet again : 
Mourn ye gay smiling meadows, and be seen 
In wintry robes, instead of youthful green ; 
And bid the brook, that still runs warbling by, 
Move silent on, and weep his useless channel dry. 
Hither methinks the lowing herd should come, 
And moaning turtles murmur o'er his tomb : 
The oak shall wither, and the curling vine 
Weep his young life out, while his arms untwine 
Their amorous folds, and mix his bleeding soul 

with mine. 
Ye stately elms, in your long order mourn*, 
Strip off your pride to dress your master's urn : 
Here gently drop your leaves instead of tears: 
Ye elms, the reverend growth of ancient years, 
Stand tall and naked to the blustering rage 
Of the mad winds ; thus it becomes your age 
To shew your sorrows. Often ye have seen 
Our heads reclin'd upon the rising green ; 
Beneath your sacred shade diffus'd we lay, 
Here Friendship reign'd with an unbounded 

sway : 
Hither our souls their constant ofPrings brought, 
The burthens of the breast and labours of the 

thought ; 



* There was a long row of tall elms then standing, 
where some time after, the lower garden was made. 



$56 LYRIC POEMS* book in. 

Our opening bosoms on the conscious ground 
Spread all the sorrows and the joys we found, 
And mingled every care ; nor was it known 
Which of the pains and pleasures were our own ; 
Then with an equal hand and honest soul 
We share the heap, yet both possess the whole, 
And all the passions there thro' both our bosoms 

roll. 
By turns we comfort, and by turns complain, 
And bear and ease by turns the sympathy of 

pain. 

Friendship ! mysterious thing, what magic 
pow'rs 
Support thy sway, and charm these minds of 

ours ? 
Bound to thy foot, w r e boast our birth-right still, 
And dream of freedom, when we've lost our will, 
And changd away our souls : at thy command 
We snatch new miseries from a foreign hand, 
To call them ours ; and, thoughtless of our ease, 
Plague the dear self that we were born to please. 
Thou tyranness of minds, whose cruel throne 
Heaps on poor mortals sorrows not their own; 
As though our mother Nature could no more 
Find woes sufficient for each son she bore, 
Friendship divides the shares, and lengthens out 

the store. 
Yet are we fond of thine imperious reign, 
Proud of thy slavery, wanton in our pain, 
And chide the courteous hand when death dis- 
solves the chain. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. '257 

Virtue, forgive the thought! the raving Muse 
Wild and despairing, knows not what she does, 
Grows mad in grief, and in her savage hours 
Affronts the name she loves and she adores. 
She is thy vot'ress, too ; and at thy shrine, 
O sacred Friendship, offer d songs divine, 
While Gunston liv'd, and both our souls were 

thine. 
Here to these shades at solemn hours w r e came, 
To pay devotion with a mutual flame, 
Partners in bliss. Sweet luxury of the mind ! 
And sweet the aids of sense ! Each ruder wind 
Slept in its caverns, while an evening breeze 
Fann'd the leaves gently, sporting through the 

trees ; 
The linnet and the lark their vespers sung, 
And clouds of crimson o'er th' horizon hung ; 
The slow-declining sun with sloping wheels 
Sunk down the golden day behind the western 

hills. 

Mourn, ye young gardens, ye unfinish'd gates, 
Ye green inclosures, and ye growing sweets, 
Lament, for ye our midnight hours have known, 
And watch' d us walking by the silent moon 
In conference divine, while heavenly fire 
Kindling our breasts did all our thoughts inspire 
With joys almost immortal ; then our zeal 
Blazd and burnt high to reach th' ethereal hill, 
And love refin'd, like that above the poles, 
Threw both our arms round one another's souls 
In rapture and embraces. Oh forbear, 
Forbear my song ! this is too much to hear, 



*$8 LYRIC POEMS. book nr. 

Too dreadful to repeat ; such joys as these 
Fled from the earth for ever !- 

Oh for a general grief ! let all things share 
Our woes, that knew our loves: the neighbouring 

air 
Let it be laden with immortal sighs, 
And tell the gales, that every breath that flies 
Over the fields should murmur and complain, 
And kiss the fading grass, and propagate the pain. 
Weep all ye buildings, and the groves around 
For ever weep: this is an endless wound, 
Vast and incurable. Ye buildings knew 
His silver tongue, ye groves have>heard it too: 
At that dear sound no more shall ye rejoice, 
And I no more must hear the charming voice : 
Woe to my drooping soul ! that heavenly breath 
That could speak life lies now congeal'd in death; 
While on his folded lips all cold and pale 
Eternal chains and heavy silence dwell. 

Yet my fond hope would hear him speak again 
Once more at least, one gentle word, and then 
Gunston aloud I call : in vain I cry 
Gunston aloud ; for he must ne'er reply. 
In vain I mourn, and drop these funeral tears, 
Death and the grave have neither eyes nor ears: 
Wandnng, I tune my sorrows to the groves, 
And vent my swelling griefs, and tell the winds 

our loves ; 
While the dear youth sleeps fast, and hears them 

not: 
He hath forgot me. In the lonesome vault 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 259 

Mindless of Watts and friendship, cold he lies, 
Deaf and unthinking clay. 

But whither am I led ? This artless grief 
Hurries the muse on, obstinate and deaf 
To all the nicer rules, and bears her down 
From the tall fabric to the neighbouring ground: 
The pleasing hours, the happy moments past, 
In these sweet fields reviving on my taste, 
Snatch me away resistless with impetuous haste. 
Spread thy strong pinions once again, my song, 
And reach the turret thou hast left so long: 
O'er the wide roof its lofty head it rears, 
Long waiting our converse ; but only hears 
The noisy tumults of the realms on high : 
The winds salute it, whistling, as they fly, 
Or jarring round the windows; rattling showers 
Lash the fair sides ; above, loud thunder roars : 
But still the master sleeps ; nor hears the voice 
Of sacred friendship, nor the tempests noise: 
An iron slumber sits on every sense, 
In vain the heavenly thunders strive to rouse it 
thence. 

One labour more, my muse, the golden sphere 
Seems to demand. See thro' the dusky air 
Downward it shines upon the rising moon ; 
And, as she labours up to reach her noon, 
Pursues her orb with reperscussive light, [night; 
And streaming gold repays the paler beams of 
But not one ray can reach the darksome grave, 
Or pierce the solid gloom that fills the cave 
s 2 



260 LYRIC POEMS, book hi. 

Where Gunston dwells in death. Behold it flames 
Like some new meteor, with diffusive beams, 
Thro' the mid-heaven, and overcomes the stars ; 
" So shines thy Gunston's soul above the 

spheres," 
Raphael replies, and wipes away my tears. 
" We saw the flesh sink down with closing eyes, 
" We heard thy grief shriek out, * he dies, he 

dies!' 
" Mistaken grief! to call the flesh the friend! 
M On our fair wings did the bright youth ascend, 
" All heavn embrac'd him with immortal love, 
" And sung his welcome to the courts above. 
" Gentle Ithuriel led him round the skies, 
" The buildings struck him with immense sur- 
prise; 
" The spires all radiant, and the mansions bright, 
" The roof high-vaulted with ethereal light: 
" Beauty and strength on the tall bulwarks sat 
" In heavenly diamond; and for every gate 
** On golden hinges a broad ruby turns ; 
" Guards of the foe, and as it moves it burns ; 
*' Millions of glories reign thro* every part ; 
u Infinite power and uncreated art 
" Stand here display'd, and to the stranger show 
•* How it outshines the noblest seats below. 
" The stranger fed his gazing powers awhile, 
" Transported : then, with a regardless smile, 
'* Glanc'd his eye downward thro' the crystal 

floor, 
11 And took eternal leave of what he built before." 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 261 

Now, fair Urania, leave the doleful strain - y 
"Raphael commands : assume thy joys again. 
In everlasting numbers sing, and say, 
" Gunston has mov'd his dwelling to the realmsr 

of day ; 
*' Gunston the friend lives still : and give thy 
groans away. 



AN ELEGY ON 

MR. THOMAS GOUGK 

TO 

MR. ARTHUR SHALLET, MERCHANT. 

Worthy sir, 

THE subject of the following elegy was high in your 
esteem, and enjoyed a large share of your affections. 
Scarce doth his memory need the assistance of the 
muse to make it perpetual ; but when she can at once 
pay her honours to the venerable dead, and by this 
address acknowledge the favours she has received from 
the living, it is a double pleasure to, 
Sir, 
Your obliged humble Servant, 

I. WATTS. 



262 LYRIC POEMS book m. 

TO THE MEMORY OF THE 

REV. MR. THOMAS GOUGE, 

Who died Jan. 8, 1700. 

1 E virgin souls, whose sweet complaint* 

Could teach Euphrates not to flow, f 
Could Sion's ruin so divinely paint, 

Array'd in beauty and in woe; 

Awake, ye virgin souls, to mourn, 
And with your tuneful sorrows dress a prophet's 
urn. 

O could my lips or flowing eyes 

But imitate such charming grief, 

I'd teach the seas, and teach the skies, 

Wailings, and sobs, and sympathies ; 

Nor should the stones or rocks be deaf; 

Rocks shall have eyes, and stones have ears, 
While Gouges death is mourn'd in melody and 
tears. 

Heav'n was impatient of our crimes, 
And sent his minister of death 
To scourge the bold rebellion of the times, 
And to demand our prophet's breath : 
He came, commisson d, for the fates 
Of awful Mead, and charming Bates : 
There he essay'd the vengeance first. 
Then took a dismal aim, and brought great 
Gouge to dust. 



Psalm cxxxvii. t Lament, i. 2. 3. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 263 

Great Gouge to dust! how doleful is the sound! 
How vast the stroke is! and how wide the wound! 

Oh painful stroke 1 distressing death I 

A wound unmeasurably wide ! 
No vulgar mortal dy'd 
When he resign'd his breath. 

The muse that mourns a nations fall 

Should wait at Gouge's funeral; 

Should mingle majesty and groans, 

Such as she sings to sinking thrones, 

And, in deep sounding numbers, tell 
How Sion trembled when this pillar fell : 

Ston grows weak, and England poor, 

Nature herself, with all her store, 
Can furnish such a pomp for death no more. 

The reverend man let all things mourn - 9 

Sure he was some sethereal mind, 

Fated in flesh to be confin'd, 
And order d to be born. 
His soul was of th' angelic frame, 
The same ingredients, and the mould the same, 
When the Creator makes a minister of flame; 

He was all form'd of heavenly things. 
Mortals, believe what my Urania sings, 
For she has seen him rise upon his flamy wings, 

How would he mount, how would he fly, 
Up thro' the ocean of the sky, 

Tow'rd the celestial coast ! 
With what amazing swiftness soar, 
Till earth's dark ball was seen no more, 

And all its mountains lost ! 



264 LYRIC POEMS, book nj 

Scarce could the muse pursue him with her sight; 
But, angels, you can tell, 
For oft you meet his wondrous flight, 

And knew the stranger well ; 
Say, how he past the radiant spheres, 
And visited your happy seats, 
And trac'd the well-known turnings of the golden 
streets, 
And walk'd among the stars. 

Tell how he climb' d the everlasting hills, 

Surveying all the realms above, 
Borne on a strong-wing'd faith, and on the fiery 
wheels 
Of an immortal love. 
'Twas there he took a glorious sight 
Of the inheritance of saints in light, 
And read their title in their Saviours right 
How oft the humble scholar came, 
And to your songs he rais'd his ears, 
To learn th' unutterable name, 
To view th' eternal base that bears 

The new creation's frame. 
The countenance of God he saw, 
Full of mercy, full of awe, 
The glories of his power, and glories of his grace. 
There he beheld the wondrous springs 

Of those celestial sacred things, 
The peaceful gospel and the fiery law, 

In that majestic face. 
That face did all his gazing powers employ, 
With most profound abasement and exalted joy: 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 265 

The rolls of fate were half unseal'd, 

He stood, adoring by ; 
The volumes open'd to his eye ; 
And sweet intelligence he held 
With all his shining kindred of the sky. 

Ye seraphs that surround the throne, 
Tell how his name was thro 1 the palace known, 
How warm his zeal was, and how like your own ; 
Speak it aloud, let half the nation hear, 

And bold blasphemers shrink and fear;* 
Impudent tongues ! to blast a prophet's name ; 
The poison, sure, was fetched from hell, 

Where the old blasphemers dwell, 
To taint the purest dust, and blot the whitest 

fame ! 
Impudent tongues ! you should be darted thro', 
Nail'd to your own black mouths, and lie, 
Useless and dead till slander die, 
Till slander die with you. 

" We saw him (said th' ethereal throng), 

" We saw his warm devotions rise, 

" We heard the fervour of his cries, 

" And mix d his praises with our song : 

u We knew the secret flights of his retiring hours: 

" Nightly he wak'd his inward powers; 
" Young Israel rose to wrestle with his God, 
" And with unconquer'd force, scal'd the celestial 
towers, 

* Though he was so great and good a man, he did 
not escape censure. 



Z66 LYRIC POEMS, book nr. 

4C To reach the blessing down for those that 
sought his blood. 
" Oft we beheld the Thunderer's hand 
" Rais'd high to crush the factious foe ; 
u As oft we saw the rolling vengeance stand, 

" Doubtful to' obey the dread command, 
4< While his ascending pray'r upheld the falling 
blow." 

Draw the past scenes of thy delight, 
My muse, and bring the wondrous man to sight, 

Place him surrounded as he stood, 

With pious crowds, while from his tongue 
A stream of harmony ran soft along, 
And every year drank in the flowing good : 

Softly it ran its silver way, 
Till warm devotion rais'd the current strong ; 
Then fervid zeal on the sweet deluge rode, 

Life, love and glory, grace and joy, 
Divinely roll'd promiscuous on the torrent-flood, 
And bore our rapturVl sense away, and thoughts, 
and souls to God. 

O might we dwell for ever there ! 
No more return to breathe this grosser air, 
This atmosphere of sin, calamity, and care ! 

But heavenly scenes soon leave the sight 

While we belong to clay, 
Passions of terror and delight 

Demand alternate sway. 

Behold the man whose awful voice 

Could well proclaim the fiery law, 

Kindle the flames that Moses saw, 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. t6T 

And swell the trumpet's warlike noise. 
He stands the herald of the threatning skies : 
Lo, on his reverend brow the frowns divinely rise, 
All Sinai's thunder on his tongue and lightning 
in his eyes. 

Round the high roof the curses flew, 

Distinguishing each guilty head, 
Far from th' unequal war the atheist fled, 

His kindled arrows still pursue, 

His arrows strike the atheist thro', [spread. 
And o'er his inmost powers a shuddering horror 
The marble heart groans with an inward wound: 

Blaspheming souls of harden d steel 
Shriek out amaz'd at the new pangs they feel, 

And dread the echoes of the sound. 

The lofty wretch arm'd and array 1 d 
In gaudy pride, sinks down his impious head, 
Plunges in dark despair, and mingles with the dead. 

Now, muse, assume a softer strain, 
Now soothe the sinner's raging smart, 
Borrow of Gouge the wondrous art 

To calm the surging conscience and assuage the 
pain: 
He from a bleeding God derives 
Life for the souls that guilt had slain, 
And strait the dying rebel lives, 

The dead arise again ; 
The opening skies almost obey 
His powerful song ; a heavenly ray 

Awakes despair to light, and sheds a cheerful day. 
His wondrous voice rolls back the spheres, 
Recals the scenes of ancient years, 



268 LYRIC POEMS, book ut. 

To make the Saviour known ; 
Sweetly the flying charmer roves 
Thro' all his labours and his loves, [throne 
The anguish of his cross and triumphs of his 

Come, he invites our feet to try 
The steep ascent of Calvary, 
And sets the fatal tree before our eye : 
See here celestial sorrow reigns ; 
Rude nails and ragged thorns lay by, 
TingM with the crimson of redeeming veins. 
In wondrous words he sung the vital flood 
Where all our sins were drown'd, 
Words fit to heal and fit to wound ; 
Sharp as the spear and balmy as the blood. 
In his discourse divine, 
Afresh the purple fountain flow'd; 
Our falling tears kept sympathetic time, 
And trickled to the ground, 
While every accent gave a doleful sound, 
'Sad as the breaking heart-strings of tlr expiring 
God. 

Down to the mansions of the dead, 
With trembling joy our souls are led, 

The captives of his tongue : 
There the dear Prince of Light reclines his head 
Darkness and shades among. 
With pleasing horror we survey 

The caverns of the tomb, 
Where the belov'd Redeemer lay, 

And shed a sweet perfume. 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 269 

Hark, the old earthquake roars again 
In Gouges voice, and breaks the chain 
Of heavy death, and rends the tombs ; 
The rising God ! he comes, he comes, 
With throngs of waking saints, a long triumph- 
ing train. 

See the bright squadrons of the sky : 
Downward, on wings of joy and haste, they fly. 
Meet their returning Sovereign, and attend him 
high. 
A shining car the conqueror fills, 
Form'd of a golden cloud y 
Slowly the pomp moves up the azure hills, 

Old Satan foams and yells aloud, 
And knaws th 1 eternal brass that binds him to the 

wheels. 
The opening gates of bliss receive their King, 

The Father-God smiles on his Son, 
Pays him the honours he has won, 
The lofty thrones adore, and little cherubs sing. 
Behold him on his native throne, 
Glory sits fast upon his head ; 
Dress d in new light and beamy robes, 
His hand rolls on the seasons and the shining 

globes, 
And sways the living worlds, and regions of the 
dead. 

Gouge was his envoy to the realm below; 
Vast was his trust, and great his skill, 
Bright the credentials he could shew, 
And thousands ownd the seal : 



£70 LYRIC POEMS, book in. 

His hallow'd lips could well impart 
The grace, the promise, and command: 

He knew the pity of Immanuel's heart, 
And terrors of Jehovah's hand. 
How did our souls start out to hear 
The embassies of love he bare, 
While every ear in rapture hung 

Upon the charming wonders of his tongue. 

Life's busy cares a sacred silence bound, 
Attention stood with all her powers, 
With fixed eyes and awe profound, 
Chain d to the pleasure of the sound, 
Nor knew the flying hours. 

But, O my everlasting grief! 
Heavn has recall'd his envoy from our eyes; 

Hence deluges of sorrow rise, 

Nor hope th' impossible relief. 

Ye remnants of the sacred tribe, 

Who feel the loss, come share the smart, 
And mix your groans with mine : 

Where is the tongue that can describe 

Infinite things with equal art, 
Or language so divine ? 

Our passions want the heavenly flame, 
Almighty Love breathes faintly in our songs, 
And awful threatnings languish on our tongues, 

Howe is a great but single name : 
Amidst the crowd he stands alone ; 
Stands yet, but with his starry pinions on, 
Drest for the flight, and ready to be gone: 

Eternal God 1 command his stay, 

Stretch the dear months of his delay; 
O we could wish his age were one immortal day ! 



SACRED TO THE DEAD. 271 

But when the flaming chariot's come, 
And shining guards t' attend thy prophet home, 

Amidst a thousand weeping eyes, 
Send an Elisha down, a soul of equal size, 
Or burn this worthless globe, and take us to the 
skies. 



END OF BOOK. III. 



SUPPLEMENT, 

CONTAINING 

TRANSLATIONS OF THE LATIN POEMS, 

IN THE FOREGOING BOORS. 



BY THOMAS GIBBONS, D. D. 



AD DOMINUM NOSTRUM ET SERVATOREM 
JESUM CHRISTUM, P. 81.* 

ODA. 



TO OUR LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST, 

AN ODE. 

1 hee, Jesus, in whose person join 
The human nature and divine, 
Th' all-glorious Sire's all-glorious Son 
Ere worlds were forrnd or time begun. 



* This ode may perhaps vie in the merit of its composition 
with any of the Lyric performances of the Greek and Latin wri- 
ters. A most astonishing energy animates, I may truly say, 
every line, and evinces what uncommon poetic powers the 
Doctor possessed. I will point out what appear to me some of 



SUPPLEMENT. 27? 

Thee will I praise ; thy name ador'd 
Shall consecrate the tuneful chord ; 
My tongue thy glories shall proclaim, 
And my pen propagate thy fame. 



the most eminent excellencies of the poem, which, though they 
may not be observed in a transient reading, yet may strike the 
mind with self-evident lustre, upon being properly displayed 
and duly considered. 

In the representation of our Lord's conquests over his and our 
enemies, what can be more strongly descriptive than 

Fractosque terrores averni, 

Victum erebum, domitamque mortem > 

" The broken terrors of hell, and its powers with those of 
" death vanished." 

The felicity of the Son of God in the bosom of his divine Father 
infinite ages before the world began, is most happily expressed 
in the third stanza. 

Immensa vastos saecula circulos 
Volvere, blando dum Patris sinu 
Toto fruebatur Jehova 
Gaudia mille bibens Jesus. 

" Immense ages rolled their vast circles, while Jesus in the 
* blissful bosom of his Father possessed the full Jehovah, there 
" imbibing a thousand joys." 

What can more forcibly describe the anger which inflamed our 
Lord against Satan for his attempts and success in involving 
mankind in sin and ruin, and the amazing love of the Son of God, 
in becoming incarnate, and suffering and dying for our redemp- 
tion, than the lines, 

Commota sacra viscera protinus 
Sensere flammasj omnipotens furor 
T 



274 SUPPLEMENT. 

Let strings of sounds divinely bold 
Be fitted to the vocal gold, 
And thou, my harp, awake and tell 
The triumphs of Immanuel, 



Ebullit, immensique amoris 
^thereum calet igne pectus ? 

u Immediately (on man's fall) his bowels felt a sacred flame. 
" Omnipotent fury boils within him, and his heavenly bosom 
" glows with the fire of infinite love." 

His readiness to become man, and so to become our Saviour, 
and his actual descent from heaven for that purpose, are des- 
cribed in most lively and suitable language. 

et £theris 

Inclinat ingens cuimen, alto 
Desiliitque ruens olympo. 

u He bends the mighty summit of the heaven, and rushing 
" down leaps from the lofty sky." Bending the mighty summit, 
what majesty? Rushing down, and leaping from the lofty sky - t 
what swiftness and alacrity ? 

The behaviour of Satan upon our Lord's entrance into the in- 
fernal regions is finely imagined in the following verses. 

Dirum fremebat rex gehenna?, 
Perque suum tremebundus orcum 
Late refugit. 

" The king of hell roars horribly, and trembling flies hither 
u and thither through his domain." His roaring horribly ex- 
presses the terrors that possessed him only at the sight of him 
who had driven him into that place of punishment, and who 
now, as he could make no doubt, was come to inflict sorer 
plagues upon him; and his trembling flight to find some corner 
or depth of hell to escape his vengeance implies a consciousness 



SUPPLEMENT. 275 

How, in the thunder of his might, 
He put the infernal hosts to flight, 
In fetters bound their vanquish'd king, 
Trampled on death, and crush' d his sting. 



of his utter incapacity to encounter his adversary, and a dread 
of feeling worse torments from his hands, and therefore he in- 
stantly and eagerly seeks a retreat from his presence and power. 
In what images of invincible strength and sovereign majesty 
do we find the infernal prisons destined for the confinement of 
those souls whom Christ meant to redeem broken up and des- 
troyed by him ? 

Immane rugit jam tonitru : fragor 
Late ruinam mandat; ab infimis 
Lectaque designata genti 
Tartara disjiciuntur antris. 

" Now immense thunder roars, the peals diffuse wide ruin, 
" and the infernal abodes designed for the chosen race are torn 
" up from their lowest caverns." 

But surely nothing can exceed in poetical merit the following 
stanza, where the Doctor describes the destruction of the infer- 
nal engines of torture, the conquest of death, and his consequent 
distress : 

Heic strata passim vincula, et heic jacent 
Unci cruenti, tormina mentium 
Invasia; ploratuqj vasto 
Spicula Mors sibi adempta plangit. 

u Here chains are every where scattered, and here lie bloody 
" racks, the hated tortures of souls, all in ruins, and Death 
"bemoans his darts taken. from him with vast lamentation." 
What can be fitter words to express the most pungent sorrow 
than plorat u vasto, vast lamentation ? They bring to my mind 
the lines of Milton.— — 



$76 SUPPLEMENT. 

Ages immense through heav'n had rolFd 
Their ample rounds of radiant gold, 
While in the realms of endless day 
He in the Fathers bosom lay, 



Cocytus nam'd of lamentation loud 
Heard on the rueful stream 

and in both the poets huge affliction is expressed not in short 
but long sounds. 

The ascent of our Lord from hell as a conqueror with his and 
our enemies dragged at his triumphal chariot is admirably 
described in the lines 

En ut resurgit victor ab ultimo 
Ditis profundo, curribus aureis 
Astricta raptans monstra noctis 
Perdomitumq j erebi tyrannum ! 

u See how the victor ascends from the profoundest hell hurrjr- 
u ing away the monsters of darkness, and the vanquished tyrant 
" of hell bound to his golden chariots." The word raptans, 
hurrying, snatching by violence, is admirably well chosen to 
express our Lord's absolute dominion over his and our enemies, 
and their utter inability to resist his power, when, as the scrip- 
ture says, " he ascended up on high, and led captivity captive." 

There is another beauty in this divine ode which I shall point 
out, and which shall close my observations upon it. It lies in 
the last stanza. 

Io triumphe, plectra seraphica, 
Io triumphe, grex hominum sonet, 
Dum laeta quaquaversus ambos 
Astra repercutiunt triumphos. 

" Let the seraphic harps tune their songs, let the race of men 
u sound his praise, while the joyful stars on every side echo t» 



SUPPLEMENT. 277 

Of his unbounded love possess'd, 

With joys immeasurably bless' d, 

Till from th' empyreal heights he saw 

Adam transgress his Maker's law, 

And hell expand its lake of fire 

T ingulph the offspring with their sire*, 

Saw too th 1 avenging angel stand, 

Swords and keen lightnings in his hand, 

And arrows rangd in dire array 

Athirst for blood, and wing'd to slay : 

Then heard from the abhorr'd profound 

The monsters of the pit resound 

Their joys, that man from God was driv'n, 

And earth to hell's dominion giv'n : 

Compassion not to be exprest, 

Like a swift flame, pervades his breast ; 

To help, to save almighty ire, 

And love dimensionless conspire, 

" Not the whole race of men shall be 

" Plung'd in eternal misery : 

" What, shall my Father's work divine, 

" Where his refulgent beauties shine, 

" Perish by hellish fraud and spite ? 

" Rather let all the stars of lisfht 



" both the triumphs ;" that is, to that of seraphs above, and to 
that of men below. The stars, perpetually rolling between the 
heaven of heavens and the earth, are called upon by our divine 
poet to repeat the songs of angels as they descend to our world, 
and the songs of men as they ascend to the celestial regions, and 
thus, as the consequence 3 there will be a boundless and immor- 
tal praise. 



278 SUPPLEMENT. 

" Be from their glorious stations hurl'd, 

" And night and chaos whelm the world : 

" I'll enter Satan's dark domain, 

" And bind the felon in my chain, 

" Or he shall chase me from the field, 

" And I'll to him my sceptre yield. 

" By my Sires glories, and by mine, 

" Alike immortal and divine, 

" I swear." He said, and bows the skies, 

And to our world impatient flies. 

The Prince of heaven without delay 

Assumes an humble form of clay, 

Though scant the room, and poor th' abode, 

Yet honour'd to admit the God ! 

Thus he displays his wondrous grace, 

Thus he redeems our ruin'd race, 

Vengeance' full quiver he receives, 

And for our own his life he gives. 

O the distress ! th' effects how dire 

Of the offended thunderer's ire ! 

Edict severe ! what punishment 

For Adam's one transgression sent ! 

He tastes the interdicted tree, 

And death sweeps o'er his progeny. 

But check, my muse, thy plaintive lay; 

Whither do thy wild pinions stray? 

Suppress these sighs, these groans restrain, 

What shall a flood of tears prophane 

The triumphs of Immanuel's tomb ? 

Rather a joyful strain assume, 

And in thy noblest numbers tell 

How he descended into hell, 

And entered the tremendous cells 

Where death in night and horror dwells ; 



SUPPLEMENT. 279 

The dreary seats his presence own'd, 

And to their inmost caverns groan'd. 

Chaos through all his empire shook, 

Trf alarm th' infernal tyrant took 

And, roaring loud in wild affright, 

Ran, fled through ail the realms of night, 

In hope to hide his guilty head, 

When thus the Lord of glory said: 

" Monster, curst cause of sin and woe, 

*' In vain thou try'st to shun my blow : 

" This bolt shall find, shall pierce thee thro', 

" Though, to conceal thee from my view, 

"Thou under hell's profoundest wave 

" Should'st dive to seek a sheltering grave." 

He spoke, and with unerring aim 

Full on the foe he flung the flame 

His Father gave: through all the coasts, 

Hell trembled, trembled all the ghosts, 

Who well etherial fires might dread 

Ere since before their force they fled 

From the celestial light and bliss 

Down to the bottomless abyss. 

Now from the deep loud thunders sound 

Scattering immense destruction round, 

Tear up the dungeons from their base 

Prepared t' immure the chosen race. 

Here in a thousand fragments lie 

Engines of hellish tyranny, 

Fetters, wheels, racks asunder burst, 

And every cruelty accurs'd. 

While Death in lamentable groans 

The plunder of his darts bemoans. 

But see the God, with conquest crownYL 

Returning from the dark profound, 



280 SUPPLEMENT, 

See up heav n's hills the triumph roll'd, 
See to his wheels of burning gold 
Proud Satan chain d, and with a throng 
Of hell's grim monsters dragg d along. 
What shouts of joy from angels rise, 
While he ascends his native skies ? 
What pleasure in the victor glow'd, 
While thro' the gates of bliss he rode > 
His praises, ye seraphic choirs, 
Resound, and sweep your golden lyres, 
His praises too all human tongues 
Resound, and tune the noblest songs, 
While the glad stars that round the pole 
'Twixt heaven and earth incessant roll, 
Seize from both worlds the tuneful sound, 
And waft th' immortal echoes round. 



SUI-IPSIUS INCREPATIO. 

EPIGRAMMA. p. 84. 



SELF-REPROOF. 

Why dost thou linger in thy cell, 

My soul, contented here to dwell ? 

What are the charms of sinful clay 

To court and entertain thy stay ? 

A thousand ills thy body feels : 

In weakness now the fabric reels, 

And now the crimson currents roll 

In poison, and infect the soul : 

Fear, love, wrath, sorrow mix their strife, 

And break the harmony of life. 



SUPPLEMENT. 281 

See how the stars their beams unite 
To point thy course, and guide thy flight 
To the fair temple of thy God, 
The purchase of Immanuel's blood. 
Kind Uriel waits to lead thy way 
In triumph to the realms of day : 
Seraphic squadrons from the skies 
Tender their wings, and bid thee rise. 
Heav'n opes its gates to give thee room : 
Jesus in smiles invites thee home. 
" Here on the pillow of my breast, 
" He cries, thy weary temples rest." 
How criminal his fond delight 
In earth, who still delays his flight, 
When Satan, and the pains of sense 
Try all their pow'rs to drive him hence 5 
And friendly Angels, Heav'n, and God 
Court him in vain to quit his clod. 



EXCITATIO CORDIS AD CCELUM VERSUS, 
p. 84. 



THE EXCITATION OF THE HEART TOWARDS 
HEAVEN. 

What shall whole ages wear away, 
And I a willing pris'ner stay 
Immur'd within these walls of clay ? 

The porch, the open door I see : 
Shall both conspire to set me free, 
And I start back from liberty ? 



282 SUPPLEMENT. 

Shall I not pant t' ascend the road, 
That leads to yon sublime abode, 
The palace of my Father, God ? 

From this vile flesh what countless ills 
Arise ? now fear my bosom chills, 
Now grief in trickling tears distils ; 

While Sin, the worst of all my foes. 
Prevents or murders my repose, 
And snares of dark destruction strows. 

On this poor spot where canst thou find 
Pleasures of such exalted kind 
To fill the wishes of the mind ? 

Jesus, thy love, far far from sight 
'Midst stars and seraphs pure and bright 
Dwells high-enthron'd in worlds of light 

Thither should'st thou attempt to go 
Th 1 Almighty would no thunders throw, 
Nor would one cloud obscure his brow : 

Himself invites thee to the skies : 
From sin and all its sorrows rise; 
Wings of swift flame his love supplies. 



SUPPLEMENT. £83 

EPISTOLA FRJTRI SUO DILECTO. 

R. W. I. W. S. P. D. p. 221. 



A LETTER FROM ISAAC WATTS, TO HIS BROTHER 

RICHARD WATTS, WISHING HIM PEACE 

AND SAFETY IN GOD. 



Dear Brother, 
I had a second receipt of a letter from you perhaps in the very 
moment in which mine came to hand; and the very day in 
which you was writing to me was the same which awakened my 
pen to the discharge of its epistolary duty to you. We bear not 
the fraternal name in vain, for the same spirit possesses, in- 
spires, and produces the most harmonious movements in us. 
May our mutual esteem every day increase and flourish ! God 
grant his love may purify and kindle our souls ! thus shall we in 
a divine manner burn with reciprocal flames of friendship. Let 
us contemplate our Saviour, that celestial and adorable example 
of love. 

The Son of God descending from the skies, 
Assum'd an human form that in our flesh 
He might endure the agonizing pains 
Due to our crimes : our surety he became 
Transferring to himself each baleful curse 
Of Heav'n's vindictive, death-denouncing law, 
And made our guilt and punishment his own. 

See him deserted on the naked ground, 
And kneeling on the sod extend his hands, 
And lift his placid counfnance to the skies 
With conscious innocence, but not t 1 enjoy, 



^84 SUPPLEMENT. 

As he was wont, his heavenly Father's smiles, 
And kind embraces. See his godlike form 
Expos'd to night's cold blast, and see his breast 
By his own hands expanded to the stroke 
Of Deity in arms. " Here, here, he cries, 
" O Father, plant thy darts, here plunge thy 

sword 
" Flaming and edg'd for slaughter : blood divine 
" Has pow'r to expiate the crimes of men." 

He said: th' Omnipotent in terror rose, 
And launch 1 d the rattling thunders from his hand. 
Now might the Muse in melting lays bemoan 
The Father's tender name extinct and lost, 
But the unsufferable noise affrights, 
Confounds her, and in silence seals her tongue. 

The skies asunder rend, the doors expand, 
Where Vengeance in its iron prison dwells, 
And in a thousand penal terrors reigns. 
Swift issue huge conglomerated clouds 
Fraught with outrageous sulphur : lightnings 

thence, 
All arm'd with tortures exquisitely keen, 
Voluminous, uninterrupted rush 
Down on his guiltless head. The wrath immense 
He firmly suffers, though beneath his pangs 
The blood reluctant quits its well-known roads, 
And bathes his limbs in gore, the purple sweat 
In big round drops descending to the ground. 

Still, still th' avenging Queen * her direful work 
Plies with redoubled fury, loudly chides 

* Divine Justice, or Vengeance. 



SUPPLEMENT. 285 

The lagging fire, and wakes her ling 1 ring sword 
To more than sevenfold rage. " Arise, she cries, 
" And in Immanuers bosom sheath thy blade 
■*« And drink his sacred blood : my keenest shafts 
" With all your iron torments wound his heart : 
" He can endure them all, th' indwelling God 
" Supports the weak humanity to bear 
" The weight of sorrows due to human guilt: 
" And thou, most holy law of stamp divine, 
" Broken, insulted by the sins of men, 
V Here take full recompence for all thy wrongs. 
" See the full expiation ! See the blood, 
** Ordain'd thine injur'd honours to restore, 
" Merit unknown from Deity acquire." 

Thus Vengeance spoke, and with remorseless rage 
Transfix' d his heart, and gash'd him o'er with 

wounds. 
The inmost deep recesses of his soul 
Thrown open, Anguish there on cruel wing 
Alights, and, like an hungry vulture, tears 
And preys upon his heart-strings, but amidst 
Th' unparalleled distress the Son of God 
Superior shines, defies the fiercest pangs, 
And triumphs in his woes. Heroic zeal 
For his great Father's glories arm'd his soul 
Join'd with invincible delight to save 
Millions of rebels from the guiph of hell. 
Such his stupendous ardour to endure 
Vicarious punishment ! What will not love 
When love inspires a mortal breast achieve ? 
But when celestial bosoms catch the fire, 
What miracles of mercy blaze around? 



286 SUPPLEMENT. 

But let fancy with all its images subside and vanish. I know 
not whither the impetuous Muse has hurried me. I designed 
only four lines in verse, and behold what a number ! While I 
have indulged my rapture I fear my juvenile heat, and too bold 
an imagination may have made some trespass on divinity. 

I received a letter yesterday acquainting me that our mother 
was somewhat better, though the fever has not left her. I in- 
tended to have written more particularly, but the swelling and 
growing verses have prevented me, and contracted the limits 
of my letter. Farewell, dear brother, and may you make 
strenuous advances in the study of religion and medicine ! Given 
from my study in London on the sixteenth of the Kalends of 
February, 1693. 



FRATRI OLIM NAVIGATURO. p. 224. 



TO MY BROTHER ENOCH WATTS, GOING A 
VOYAGE. 

Brother, may heaven vouchsafe to bless, 
And crown your voyage with success ! 
Go, in the planks of pine immur'd, 
And from surrounding harms secur'd, 
Go, and with sails expanding wide, 
With pleasure plough the placid tide, 
In safety wafted o'er the main, 
In safety wafted home again. 
O may no monster of the flood, 
That roams for prey, and thirsts for blood, 
Seize you to his tremendous pow'r 
And with remorseless jaws devour, 
While the bark shiver' d by the blast 
S trows with its wreck the wat'ry waste ! 



SUPPLEMENT. 287 

My brother trusted to thy care, 
Half of myself, O vessel, bear 
Secure through ocean's wide domain, 
At best a desert trackless plain, 
And oft, when hurricanes arise, 
In billows thund'ring to the skies : 
Safe from the sand's devouring heap, 
May'st thou thy wary passage keep, 
Safe too from each tremendous rock, 
Where ships are shatter'd by the shock: 
May only favourable gales 
Attend thy course, and fill thy sails, 
And may the zephyrs softest wing 
Thee to thy port serenely bring ! 

Thou, who dost o'er the seas preside, 
Rouse them to rage, or smooth their tide ! 
Thou, who dost in thy fetters keep 
The boisterous tyrants of the deep ! 
To foreign climes secure convey 
My brother thro' the wat'ry way; 
And back conduct him, o'er the main, 
To his dear shores and friends a°:ain ! 



SS8 SUPPLEMENT. 

AD REVERENDUM VIRUM DOMINUM 

JOHANNEM PlNHORNE, 
FIDUM ADOLESCENTIS PRECEPTOREM. 

p. 225. 
TO THE REV. MR JOHN PlNHORNE. 

THE FAITHFUL PRECEPTOR OF MY YOUNGER YEARS. 

Pinhorne, permit the muse f aspire 
To thee, and vent th' impatient fire 

That in her bosom glows : 
Fain would she tune an equal lay, 
And to her honoured tutor pay 

The debt of thanks she owes. 

Thro' Plato's walks, a flow'iy road, 

And LatiuirTs fields with pleasure strow'd, 

She owns thy guiding hand ; 
Thou, too, didst her young steps convey 
Thro' many a rough and craggy way 

In Palestinas land. 

Twas thine irradiating light 
Open'd the Thespian vales to sight, 

And taught the muse to climb 
The mountains w r here the muses' choir 
Now tune their breath, now touch the lyre, 

To ecstasy sublime. 

Of high Parnassus' top possess'd, 
See Homer tow'ring o'er the rest — 
What a stupendous strain ! 



SUPPLEMENT, 280. 

In battle, gods and men contend, 
The heav'ns outrageous uproars rend, 
And slaughters drench the plain. 

My ear imbibes th' immense delight, 
When Virgil's pastoral lays recite 

The country's humble charms; 
Or when his muse exalts her voice, 
And like the warlike clarion's noise, 

Sounds the loud charge to arms. 

The Theban bard* my soul admires, 
His tow'ring flights, his mounting fires, 

The raptures of his rage ! 
Hail, great triumvirate ! your lays 
The world, consenting in your praise, 

Resound from age to age. 

When, from my labours in the mine 
Of heav'nly truth and grace divine, 

To leisure I retire, 
I'll seize your works with both my arms, 
Take a sweet range among their charms, 

And catch th immortal fire. 

Horace shall with the choir be joind, 
When virtue has his verse refin'd, 
And purg'd his tainted page : f 

* Pindar. 

+ The Doctor has given us an instance of his improvement of 
part of an ode of Horace, lib. iii. ode 29 ; which has become 
divine under the new mouiding he has bestowed upon it; it is 
U 



290 SUPPLEMENT. 

Pleas'd, I'll attend his lyric strain, 
Hear him indulge his laughing vein, 
And satirize the age. 

Next, cleans' d from his unhallow'd scum, 
The mighty Juvenal shall come, 

And high his vengeance wield : 
His satires sound the loud alarm 
To vice ; she sees his lifted arm, 

And, cow' ring, quits the field. 



in his * Remnants of Time employed in Prose and Verse;' 
No. 4, 4>to. edit. vol. iv. page 608. 

Horace's stanzas are — 

Non meum est si mugiat Africis 
Malus procellis, ad miseras preces 
Becurrere, et votis pacisci, 
~Ne Cypria? Tynaeque merces 
Addant avaro divitias mari. 
Tunc me biremis presidio scaphae 
Tutum per ^Egeos tumultus 
Aura feret, geminusque Pollux. 

That is in Mr. Francis's translation — ■ 

Tho' the mast howl beneath the wind, 
I make no mercenary prayers. 
Nor with the gods a bargain bind, 
With future vows and streaming tears, 
To save my wealth from adding more 
To boundless ocean's avaricious store. 

Then in my little barge I'll ride 
Secure amidst the foamy wave, 
Calm will I stem the threat'ning tide, 
And fearless all its tumults brave ! 



SUPPLEMENT. 291 

In vain should I expect delight 
From Persius, wrapt in tenfold night, 

Unless, O Bond, thy ray 
Had piercd the shades that veil him round, 
And set his sense, obscure, profound, 

Amidst the blaze of day. 

Now Seneca, with tragic lays, 
Demands my wonder and my praise : 
What thunder arms his tongue ! 



Ev'n then, perhaps, some kinder gale, 
While the twin-stars appear, shall fill my joyful sail. 

The Doctor's improvement is as follows, entitled, ' The 
British Fisherman .' 

Let Spain's proud traders, when the mast 
Bends, groaning, to the stormy blast, 
Run to their beads with wretched plaints, 
And vow and bargain with their saints, 
Lest Turkish silks or Tyrian wares 

Sink in the drowning ship, 
Or the rich dust Peru prepares 
Defraud their long projecting cares 
And add new treasures to the greedy deep : 

My little skiff, that skims the shores 
With half a sail and two short oars, 
Provides me food in gentler waves ; 
But if they gape in wat'ry graves, 
I trust th' Eternal Power, whose hand 

Has swell'd the storm so high, 
To waft my boat and me to land, 
Or give some angel swift command 
To bear the drowning sailor to the sky. 
U 2 



292 SUPPLEMENT. 

Now Sophocles lets loose his rage: 
With what a pomp he treads the stage, 
And how sublime his song ! 

In long and regular array, 

My shelves your volumes shall displa}^ 

Ye fav'rites of the nine ! 
No moth's, no worm's, insidious rage 
Shall dare to riot on your page, 

Or mar one modest line. 

Meanwhile, let Martial's blushless muse, 
Whose wit is poison'd by the stews, 

Catullus' wanton fire, 
With Ovid's verse, that, as it rolls, 
With luscious poison taints our souls, 

In bogs obscene expire. 

See, from the Caledonian shore, 
With blooming laurels cover'd o'er, 

Buchanan march along ! 
Hail, honour'd heir of David's lyre, 
Thou full-grown image of thy sire ! 

And hail thy matchless song ! 

What terror sounds thro' all thy strings 
When, in his wrath, th' almighty flings 

His thunder thro' the skies ! 
Anon, when heav'n's wide op'ning ray 
Shines all our gloomy doubts away, 

How soft the notes arise ! 



SUPPLEMENT. 293 

When billows upon billows roll, 

And night overwhelms the tossing soul, 

How potent is thy lyre 
To hush the raging storm to rest, 
Restore the sunshine of the breast, 

And joy divine inspire! 

Thou sacred bard, whene'er I rove 
The smiling mead or shady grove 

Shalt entertain my way : 
My humble mansion thou shalt grace, 
Shalt at my table find a place, 

And tune th 1 extatic lay: 

When the returning shades of night 
My eyes to balmy sleep invite, 

Thy sweet angelic airs 
Shall warble to my ear, till sleep's 
Soft influence o'er my senses creeps 

And buries all my cares. 

Next comes the charming Casimire; 
Exulting in seraphic fire, 

The bard divinely sings : 
The heav'nly muse inspir'd his tongue, 
The heav'nly muse his viol strung, 

And tun'd th' harmonious strings. 

See on what full, what rapid, gales 
The Polish swan triumphant sails ! 

He spurns the globe behind ; 
And, mountains less'ning to the eye, 
Thro' the unbounded fields on high 

Expatiates unconfin'd> 



294 SUPPLEMENT. 

Whether 'tis his divine delight 
To bear, in his exalted flight, 

Some hero to the skies, 
Or to explore the seats above, 
His kindred seats of peace and love, 

His peerless pinions rise — 

With what a wing ! to what an height ! 
He tow'rs and mocks the gazing sight, 

Lost in the tracts of day ! 
I from afar behold his course, 
Amaz'd with what a sov'reign force 

He mounts his arduous way ! 

Methinks, enkindled by the name 
Of Casimire, a sudden flame 

Now shoots thro' all my soul. 
I feel, I feel, the raptures rise, 
On starry plumes, I cut the skies, 

And range from pole to pole. — 

Touching on Z ion's sacred brow, 
My wand' ring eyes I cast below, 

And our vain race survey : 
O how they stretch their eager arms 
T' embrace imaginary charms, 

And throw their souls away ! 

In grov'ling cares and stormy sirife, 
They waste the golden hours of life, 

And murder every joy ; 
What is a diadem, that's tost 
From hand to hand, now won, now lost, 

But a delusive toy ? 



SUPPLEMENT. 

From all terrestrial dregs refin'd 

And sensual fogs, that choke the mind, 

Full of th' inspiring God, 
My soul shall her sublimest lay 
To her Creator, Father, pay, 

And sound his praise abroad. 

Ye Heroes, with your blood-stain' d arms, 
Avaunt ! the muse beholds no charms 

In the devouring sword. 
Avaunt ! ye despicable train 
Of gods, the phantoms of the brain, 

By Greece and Rome ador'd. 

Say, what is Wisdom's queen to me, 
Or her fictitious panoply, 

Or what the god of wine ? 
I never will profane this hand 
Around his tall imperial * wand 

The sacred boughs to twine. 

Tis all romance beneath a thought 
How Hercules with lions fought, 

And crush'd the dragons spires ; 
Alike, their thunderer I despise, 
The fabled ruler of the skies, 

And his pretended fires. 



* The thyrsus mentioned by the Doctor ia his ode was a spear 
twined round with ivy or bay leaves, which the votaries of 
Bacchus carried about in their hands at his feasts. 



296 SUPPLEMENT. 

Thy name, Almighty Sire, and thine, 
Jesus, where his full glories shine, 

Shall consecrate my lays ; 
In numbers by no vulgar bounds controul'd, 
In numbers most divinely strong and bold, 

I'll sound thro' all the world th' immeasurable 
praise ! 

But in the moment the Muse is promising great things her 
•vigour fails, her eyes are dazzled with the divine glories, her 
pinions nutter, her limbs tremble ; she rushes headlong from 
the skies, falls to the earth, and there lies vanquished, over- 
whelmed in confusion and silence. 

Forgive, Rev. Sir, the vain attempt, and kindly accept this 
poetical fragment, though rude and unpolished,, as an expression, 
of that gratitude which has been so long due to your merit. 



VOTUM,SEU VITA Ix\ T TERRIS BEATA. 
Ad virum dignissimmn Johannem Hartoppium, Bart, 

TO 

Sir JOHN HARTOPP, Baronet. 

THE WISH. 

Hartopp, thou young illustrious shoot, 
The offspring of a noble root, 

Of genius' richest vein possest, 
Should you desire my Muse to paint 
The happy soul, the God-like saint, 

Whom she would call divinely blest, 

Behold the man, Urania cries, 
Who, while at distance from the skies, 
Leads such a life as angels do ; 



SUPPLEMENT. 297 

In every state who smiles serene, 
Sufficient to himself is seen, 
And to himself is ever true. 

He, when the sun ascends the skies, 
And when the evning-vapours rise, 

No mortal cares, nor troubles knows, 
But, 'midst the sylvan shades and hills, 
The spreading lawns, and silver rills, 

Enjoys an undisturb'd repose. 

In studies moral and divine, 
That raise, enrapture, and refine, 

He well employs his circling hours ; 
And, or to serve his maker here, 
Or in yon bright empyreal sphere, 

Collects and consecrates his pow'rs. 

The fickle favours of the crowd, 
His name, his praise resounding loud 

Reach not his Heav'n-ascending soul : 
Their senseless noise he could despise, 
E'vn though it mounted to the skies, 

And with its echoes rent the pole. 

Not all the wealth of Indian lands, 
Nor Tagus with his golden sands 

Could from his grove-embosom'd seat 
Tempt him away. The roofs of kings, 
Their robes and crowns are futile things, 

And Pageants despicably great. 



298 SUPPLEMENT. 

Was I permitted to compose 
Whatever vital thread I chose, 

And fix the colours of my fate, 
Of spotless white Id form the twine, 
In spotless white should run the line, 

Till Time had measurd out my date. 

No Tyrian dye its course should stain. 
No gold enrich th' unwinding skain, 

No gem its envy'd lustre throw: 
An humble state of sweet content, 
A life serene and innocent 

Com pleat my utmost wish below. 

No sounding trump, no thund'ring car, 
No standard of triumphant war 

Should ever visit my retreat : 
Nor a proud mace, nor prouder crown, 
An idle glare, a vain renown, 

Should tempt me from my peaceful seat. 

I'd dwell an humble roof beneath, 

Where purest gales should round me breathe, 

And fan the flame within my veins j 
Far, far away from clouds of smoke, 
Which first create, and then provoke 

The cough's and phthisic 1 s grinding pains. 

Th' Exchange to me can yield no charms, 
Where merchants mix in clust'ring swarms, 

And the broad space with murmurs fill ; 
Td rather hear the slumbrous sound 
Of bees, the meads wide-wand'ring round, 

Or listen to the tinkling rill. 



SUPPLEMENT. 299 

The noisy wrangling of the bar, 
Where lawyers wage the venal war, 

Terror instead of joy inspires; 
My soul detests those arts of strife, 
And to enjoy an happy life 

To calm sequester'd bow'rs retires. 

With a like hatred from my heart, 
I spurn the blandishments of art : 

Ye faithless citizens, adieu, 
With all your methods to beguile, 
The glaring lie, th' insidious smile : 

Friendship's an empty name with you. 

From me for ever be exil'd 

Gay Venus, and her wanton child, 

His bow, his quiver fledg'd with darts : 
Before them ev'ry science flies, 
And all celestial ardor dies, 

When once their poison taints our hearts. 

Cupid, avaunt with all thy fires ! 
Seraphic flame my soul inspires, 

My joys in purer channels run ; 
My Venus is the heav'n-born muse, 
The youth, that for my guest I choose, 

Is Jesse's soul-enliv'ning Son. 

With what a sov'reign sweep he flings 
His arm across the sounding strings ! 

What notes inimitable rise ! 
Astonish' d at his tuneful pow'rs, 
What raptures entertain my hours, 

And bear my spirit to the skies > 



300 SUPPLEMENT. 

Anon withdrawing from the muse, 
Ed from my sacred treasure choose 

Some volume, and its wisdom weigh, 
Till a choice few, where friendship burns, 
Now in full circle, now by turns, 

With social bliss should crown the day. 



FINIS. 



Printed by Biggs and Co. Crane-court, Fleet-street. 

7 3 8. 




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